


Everybody leaves if they get the chance.

by singing_to_shipwreck



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Almost Happy Ending, Angst, Arguing, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, Catharsis Ending, Emotional Manipulation, First Kiss, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Groundhog Day, Hate Confessions, Hurt And Some Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I promise you'll smile by the end, Love Confessions, M/M, Post S2, Post-Canon, Reconciliation, Rejection, Time Loop, Unrequited Love, Vomiting, but not in that order, nandor is dumb, oneshot turned multichapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28566093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singing_to_shipwreck/pseuds/singing_to_shipwreck
Summary: Immediately post-theatre: Nandor shoves his foot into his mouth, and Guillermo finally gets some things off of his chest.Over and over until it sticks.Started as a oneshot, turned into a time loop fic.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz & Nandor the Relentless, Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 48
Kudos: 71





	1. Breathe, breathe in the air.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic won’t make you smile. (At least not at first)  
> But, at the risk of tooting my own horn, I’m really proud of it. I think it’s one of the better things I’ve written. I hope you enjoy.   
> Listen to Weird Fishes/Arpeggi by Radiohead if you wanna tap into my angst vibes.  
> As a warning, Nandor says some emotionally manipulative stuff in here, including talking about dying. 
> 
> Edit to add: I am turning this into a multichapter fic. No promises for a perfectly happy ending, but please join me on the ride. I think, at the very least, you'll find it's cathartic in the end. And no one dies. I promise.
> 
> Editing again to add: I've written the last chapter, and it's not nearly as depressing as I thought. Don't be afraid.

The ride home from the theatre is filled with a tense silence that, initially, even Colin does not dare break. 

Guillermo focuses on driving, trying to remember that, despite his non-mortal strength, he is in fact still able to die, and he’s captaining a big metal death box around New York. He is thankful that Nadja is quiet in the backseat, because he doesn’t know if he could take hearing about her Yaya or whatever the fuck other nonsense she spilled the last time they were in the car. 

Nandor hasn’t spoken since the theatre. When he asked about _laundry_ , of all fucking things. Guillermo’s grip on the wheel edges into the death territory. 

Colin reaches over and clicks on the radio, flipping through to a talk radio show and breaking the not-so-peaceful silence. “You know what I say?” the brash voice crackles over the shitty sound system. “I say you have to just pick yourself up by your bootstraps--”

“Fuck this,” Guillermo grits and slams his hand down onto the power button. 

Laszlo, who is clearly tentative about the idea of being in a motor vehicle, cries out. “Two hands on the wheel, man!” 

“Don’t worry, darling,” Nadja soothes gently. She probably thinks she’s being subtle as she adds, “I think Gizmo knows how to pilot this machine.” 

Nandor, for his part, still doesn’t have anything to say. 

Guillermo shakes his head. He could probably get away with telling them to shut up, but he doesn’t really have the patience to deal with the aftermath of that. His head already kills, and his hands are shaking where they rest at 10 and maybe-not-quite 2, probably closer to 4. 

Colin reaches over to turn the stereo back on. Guillermo slaps his hand away harshly, and he seems to get the point. 

He returns his hand back to the wheel quickly, partially to keep Laszlo from complaining, but also because he needs his double-handed grip on the wheel. He needs it to ground himself, and also to make sure that he doesn’t crash the car. He hasn’t yet ruled that possibility out. 

When they finally make it to the house, he pulls in front of the iron gates and shifts the car into park. He leans forward on the wheel, his chest huffing as the fake leather presses into his forehead. He isn’t sure how they got here in one piece. He closes his eyes and tries to remember a single turn, a single stop sign, one single traffic light, but he can’t. It’s all a blur. 

“Get out,” he mutters, and he listens to the doors unlatching and Nadja and Laszlo spilling out of the car. 

“Aren’t you coming, Gizmo?” Colin asks where he still sits in the front seat, and the question drains him, but for once he doesn’t think Colin means to. “I don’t think there are any hard feelings. What do you think, Nandor? Any hard feelings?”

“Stop it, Colin Robinson,” Nandor urges. “Can’t you see he’s already slumped over? Guillermo? Are you awake?”

“Yes,” Guillermo says to the speedometer, eyes fixed on the little hand at 0. “He’s not draining me.”

“Okay. Good, then. I will see you in the house,” Nandor says chipperly, shuffling out of the car. He slams the door with a boom, and Guillermo jolts upward. Colin looks at him with something close to concern. 

“Quite the show back there, huh? Didn’t think you had it in you. Then again, we didn’t even know what your last name was. Sorry about that.” 

“That’s fine. Aren’t you tired?” _Don’t you want to go inside and leave me alone already?_

“Not really. Crazy what a close call with death can do for your energy!” Colin declares, drumming his fingers on his knees excitedly. “Really though, can I get serious with you for a second? I’m going to get serious with you for a second.” 

“You don’t have to do that.” Guillermo frowns. 

“There really are no hard feelings. That’s not the kind of energy I was picking up on. It was some crazy shit coming off of them. Laszlo let out the emotional equivalent of pissing his pants in the car there. But I don’t think they’re mad.”

“I’m not worried about that.”

Colin looks at him for a moment and then laughs, shaking his head. “You really aren’t planning on coming back, huh?” He gestures to the house with his thumb.

“Not like you guys need me much anyways. Except to do laundry.”

“ _Right_.” Colin’s eyes flash. Guillermo sighs. “I think you should just come inside and talk to Nandor yourself.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

“Fine.”

Colin finally unbuckles his seatbelt, which he probably doesn’t even need to wear, but _safety first_. “Also you should know that I kind of let them all think that laundry is so dangerous it could kill you.”

“You _what?_ ” 

Colin lets out a belly laugh. “Yeah. I think they all think you’re some kind of vampire slaying laundry superhero.” 

Well. That changes things a little. Not much, but a little. 

“I’ll come inside for a second, but then I’m going back to my mom’s.”

✞

The stench of the house barrels into him all at once, and he covers his face with his hands. “Holy fuck,” he breathes into his palms. Now that the adrenaline from before has dissipated, he can question what on earth has happened to this house. “Do you really not know how to clean up after yourselves?” he asks in Nandor’s direction. 

“I know how to clean up after myself,” Nandor insists proudly. 

“So why are there bodies everywhere?”

“Because _Nadja_ clearly doesn’t know how to clean up after _her_ self.” 

Guillermo shakes his head. “I can’t think with this smell. It’s awful.” 

“Yes, it is not very pleasant, is it? Fucking Nadja.”

Guillermo frowns, looking at a particularly sad businessman scattered on the stairs. “You couldn’t have done something about it?”

“Why would I clean up a mess that isn’t my mess?”

“Sure. Of course. Why would you do something like that? Silly me.”

Nandor blinks at him. “We can go into the fancy room, then.”

Guillermo shudders and shakes his head. He’s tried. Only for a few seconds but still. He’s tried. 

“I can’t be in this house right now, Nandor. I can’t.” With that, he pushes himself past the vampire and back out the front door, toward his car. 

“Alright, we can talk outside then, Guillermo. If you insist.” Nandor says as he follows close behind, and Guillermo rolls his eyes. He doesn’t know if Nandor is truly that dense, or if he is just playing dumb. Either option is possible, and he doesn’t have the fortitude to deal with any of it.

Guillermo turns around on his heels. “No. We are not talking at all. I’m filthy, and I’m tired. I want to go home.”

Nandor stops on the top step, a deep frown etched on his face. “Are you not home?”

“I meant I want to go back to my mom.”

“Aren’t you a little too old to be living with your mother, Guillermo? In Al Quolanudar --”

“I don’t care what they did in Al Quolanudar. _I_ can’t be here anymore. You have to understand that.”

“Why? Because you have been killing vampires?” Nandor demands, anger finally seeping into his confusion. “Yes, I am very angry that you did not tell me about this, but not so angry that I forbid you from coming back home.”

He grits his teeth and turns, letting out a huffing breath as he leans into the full force of his feelings. His breath kicks up wispy little clouds in front of him, and he chooses to focus on the shape of them instead of Nandor’s stupid face.

“You know…” Guillermo kicks the ground with his shoe. He feels the rubber sole slap back against his foot. He’s been meaning to glue it back together for a while, but then again, there are so many things he’s been meaning to do. 

This conversation might be one of them.

“Sometimes I fucking hate your guts,” he finally admits, digging his fingers into the meat of his thighs through his pockets. 

Nandor stays silent for longer than Guillermo might have anticipated. He grasps at the edge of his fancy cape, bringing it tighter around himself. “Right.” He looks off at something just past the trees. “If you hate me so much, then why didn’t you just let them cut off my head with the big head cutting machine then, hmm?”

“Oh, that is _so_ not fair--”

“No, really. You should have,” Nandor insists, his face devoid of any emotion. “You should have just let them cut off my _fucking_ head, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about how much you _fucking_ hate what’s in my guts.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Maybe it is, though.” The vampire deflates, trailing off. “You don’t talk to me anymore. You just scamper off with your tail between your legs. This is what you do now.”

“I never talked to you,” Guillermo spits. And then winces. _Way to kick him while he’s down, Memo._

“You and I remember things differently, it seems.”

“Sorry.”

“So, is this over then?” Nandor questions, waving his hands out to his sides. “We can go back in the house then?” 

“I… I can’t believe you. After all of that, and you think I’m just going to go back to the house?”

“Well… someone has to do the laundry,” Nandor says simply, but there’s no malice underneath. He says it matter-of-factly, as though he hasn’t the slightest notion how much his words hurt, and Guillermo supposes that he ought to be used to that by now. 

And then he remembers what Colin said earlier, about Guillermo being a _laundry superhero_ , and wonders if Nandor is actually talking about laundry or something else entirely. 

It doesn’t matter. 

“You’re fucking ridiculous. I’m going.” Guillermo shakes his head, trying to knock away any instinct not to do this. He has the chance to be free. It’s right here. And he has to take it. He has to take it now when he’s so infuriated that his shoulders are heavy with it. He has to, or else the sadness and the longing will seep in, and his feet will seep further into the soft ground of this yard in kind. 

“ _No_.” Nandor’s voice cracks. It gives Guillermo pause, and he turns back around. Nandor’s not crying. He can’t expect that from him. He doesn’t know if it’s possible. “I’m -- I --”

After so many false starts, Guillermo ought to have just given up on the engine by now. Instead, he stomps up the steps, getting in Nandor’s face. “You what? You beg me not to go?” 

“I don’t beg.” Nandor looks away. 

“I can see that.” Guillermo shakes his head. “You’re such a fucking idiot sometimes.” 

Nandor tsks and crosses his arms at his chest. "Why don't you just take out one of those stakes you seem to be so practiced with and just stabby stab me right in the chest? Get it over with?"

"Will you fucking _stop that_ , already?" Guillermo practically screeches, and his eyes betray him, angry tears beading up. 

Nandor softens at the sight of them. "Guillermo," he begins, reaching toward the human's face.

Guillermo knocks his hand away roughly. Maybe later he will regret missing the opportunity to be touched, but as it stands he's mad, so _mad_ , and he positively shakes with it. "How dare you?" He shoves at the broad plain of Nandor's chest with a tiny, clenched fist. "How fucking dare you?" His voice cracks. He might be embarrassed if he weren't so goddamn upset. "For you to think that I would want you… that I could… as though I could handle something happening to you."

Nandor turns, his face once again impassive. "I think you _probably_ could." 

"I couldn't. I _couldn't_." He dares to pound his fists against Nandor's pecs, against his shoulders. "I came back, didn't I? When you needed me, I was there."

"And now you're going again." 

"Okay, but that doesn't mean I want you to _die_ ," he sobs. His fists uncoil and his fingers clench at Nandor's cravat. He rapidly descends into hysterics, everything he’s felt since the last body hit the floor in that theatre, every reaction and every thought he tried to bury bubbling up to the surface all at once. "I never want that. Never. So please stop saying those things. Just stop it. Please."

"Alright, Guillermo," Nandor pronounces delicately, grabbing one of Guillermo's wrists in a vice-like grip, so hard that Guillermo loses feeling in his fingertips. Maybe he means for it to be comforting. "I will stop this talk at once.” 

“Thank you.” Guillermo shuffles his feet, slowly trying to twist his hand out of Nandor’s grip. Nandor, thankfully, seems to get the idea, and unravels his fingers. 

Once he lets go of Nandor’s frame, the fatigue washes over him like a tidal wave. His vision blurs at the edges. 

“Guillermo?” Nandor questions. “Is it normal for human eyes to roll back like that?”

“I’m just,” Guillermo gasps, fingers once again curling in the thick fabric of Nandor’s cape in a desperate attempt not to fall over. Nandor’s hands grab his shoulders. “I’m just really tired.”

✞

He wakes up slowly, first, until the brief moment of peace is jolted by his overall confusion. He sits up, wondering where the fuck he is. He quickly realizes he’s in Nandor’s room, on his tiny couch near the door. _So this is what this couch feels like_ , he thinks, palming at the fur underneath him gently. His coat has been shucked off and is balled up carelessly on top of the coffin lid, along with a glass of water, an off-brand candy bar, and a sticky note.

He smirks at the pink paper, remembering the day they bought these. A whole pack of 1000 sticky notes that Nandor insisted on buying, because _they’re a steal Guillermo! What a low price for such colorful sheets of paper._ Guillermo had pointed out that no one has any need for a thousand sticky notes. He smirks at the fact that Nandor is still trying to use all of them, 6 years later. 

He unwraps the candy bar and takes a bite, his teeth stinging at the unnatural sweetness as he reads the note. Nandor’s swirling writing is etched in ink. 

_I am in the cell eating. Wash yourself. We will talk after._

Guillermo sighs as he finishes the candy bar on autopilot, then washes it down with the water. He cringes; it’s clearly straight from the sink. Despite the haphazard nature of it all, it’s the little things like these - these tiny gestures, these small moments of kindness - that have kept him from leaving so many times. It seems that even now Nandor’s got this hold on him, because he aimlessly makes his way past the bodies in the entryway up to the second floor bathroom. 

He peels his sweater and undershirt off together, cringing at the way the blood-soaked fabric clings to his skin. He shrugs off his shoes without undoing the laces. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, as the rubber sole on the non-damaged loafer rips apart. “Well, at least you match,” he laments to his shoes. He strips off the rest of his clothing and places his glasses gently on the counter.

He steps into the shower and turns the hot water on full blast. The pipes creak, shouting out their disagreement with him, before lukewarm water sputters out of the showerhead. The shower is so dinky that he stands almost at the same height as the showerhead. He stands back so the tepid stream is directed at his chest, and he scrubs furiously at his skin. As he washes, he becomes acutely aware of how intensely his body aches. 

He shoves his hands under the water and picks at his fingernails until they aren’t bloodstained any longer, and by the time he’s satisfied with the state of his body, the water has gone fully cold. He trembles and squints at his dollar store bottle of shampoo. There’s no way in hell he’s washing his hair in this water. 

To the sink it is, then. He shuts off the water, his teeth chattering loudly. 

When he opens the curtain, he’s greeted with Nandor sitting at the window seat, casually leaning back against the sill. 

Guillermo shrieks and covers himself with the curtain. 

“Relax, Guillermo,” Nandor urges. “Do not worry about me looking at your squishy bits. I have seen many many people’s squishy bits.”

“Okay, but not mine, so could you _please_ hand me a towel or something?” 

“Alright, alright,” Nandor says surprisingly good-naturedly, despite all that’s passed between them tonight. He shoves a clean towel into Guillermo’s grasp. 

“Well, don’t _look_ ,” Guillermo insists. Despite the chattering of his teeth, his face is red hot. 

Nandor smirks and turns away while Guillermo dries off his body, then puts on his glasses and shuffles into his boxers and a robe. “Can I look now? All of your squishy bits are tucked away?”

“Yes.” 

Nandor plops himself back down onto the window seat and stares for a long time. Guillermo shrinks under his gaze. 

“Your hair…” Nandor observes, face curled in disgust. “It’s still covered in blood.”

“Yeah, the hot water ran out. That happens a lot. I’ll just wash it in the sink. That tap heats up quicker.”

“I didn’t know this was a problem, Guillermo. There is always ample hot water for my baths.”

“That’s because the downstairs bathroom doesn’t do this very often.” _And if it does, then I just boil water on the stove._

“So why don’t you wash yourself in the downstairs bathroom?” Nandor demands, still sitting at the window but now looking anything but lax. “If it is such a problem?”

“You forbade me.”

“I did no such thing!”

Guillermo scoffs and moves toward the sink, flipping on the hot water before crouching down to get his plastic cup. Even after all of these years, his nose still curls at the musty stench of the cabinet. Countless bleach baths never quite did the trick to rid the wood of that smell. “Yes, you did. Three months into my familiarhood. You told me I am to use this bathroom and this bathroom _only_.” 

“I…” Nandor sighs and shrugs off his vest, letting the brocade fabric fall to the floor. Guillermo resists every urge to bend down and retrieve it. Nandor’s leather undershirt comes next. 

_“What are you doing?”_

Nandor ignores him, and he stands. “I do not even remember telling you that you cannot use the downstairs bathroom.”

Guillermo sighs. “Well, you did. It doesn’t matter anyway. There’s no shower down there, and I hate washing my hair in the tub, so I’ll just use the sink.” He wants to tack on: _not that it matters now, because this is the last time I’m going to wash in this bathroom anyways_ , but he can’t bear the thought of Nandor spiraling into his self-pity again, so he keeps that statement tucked away for the next inevitable moment of fury when it will come spilling out without his consent. 

Guillermo eyes Nandor where he stands in just his frilly white undershirt. He repeats, “What are you doing?” 

“I am going to help you wash your hair.”

Guillermo laughs nervously and takes a step back. His lower back bumps into the counter, and he winces. “I can do it myself.”

“But you wash _my_ hair all the time.” If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Nandor is pouting. 

“Well, that was my job, right?” He goes back to the shower, partly to grab the shampoo and also to avoid seeing Nandor’s face after that comment. 

“If you don’t want me to wash your hair, then I won’t wash your hair,” he says rhythmically. He reaches down and unbuttons his right cuff, before folding it and pushing the fabric up to his elbow. Guillermo stares at the hairy, pale expanse of skin as it’s revealed to him. He watches with rapt attention as Nandor does the same with his left sleeve. “But perhaps you should let me help you.” He grimaces at the plastic memento cup from Guillermo’s high school. “There is a lot of blood in there, and it won’t be easy to get out on your own.” 

“Fine,” Guillermo finally acquiesces, deflating. “But make it quick,” he tacks on. 

Nandor hums and gets to work, wetting his long fingers under the tap before snatching the bottle of VO5 away and squeezing more than enough into his palm. Guillermo stifles a laugh. “Put your head in the sink,” Nandor directs. 

Guillermo takes off his glasses and bends down so his hair is under the tap. He winces at the twinge in his back and the scald of the water on his forehead. He probably let the water heat up a little _too_ much. The pain is momentarily forgotten, however, when Nandor’s cool fingers bury themselves into his hair and begin to delicately twine through the strands. Guillermo watches as the water in the sink goes red, but then a dollop of shampoo trickles down his forehead and he squeezes his eyes shut. It’s worse this way, he thinks, with his eyes closed. At least staring at the blood-soaked water he can remind himself of _why_ this is happening in the first place. But with his eyes closed like this, all he can focus on is the frankly glorious feeling of Nandor’s hands in his hair. If it weren’t for the pain in his back, he’d probably have a pretty embarrassing situation happening in his boxers. He thanks the universe for small miracles. 

“There is so much of this shit, Guillermo,” Nandor observes, and Guillermo laughs despite himself. “It is almost out.” 

“Okay,” he murmurs into the basin of the sink. 

After a bit more rinsing, Nandor finally deems his hair clean, and shoves another towel at him. “There. No more vampire blood in your hair, Guillermo. That must feel nice.” Guillermo scrubs at his hair with the towel and shivers. “If you are cold then put your clothes back on.” 

“I only have the dirty ones.” He frowns at the pile of his clothes on the floor as he puts his glasses back on. 

“Come downstairs,” Nandor says, and Guillermo has no choice but to follow. 

✞

Guillermo steps over one of the bodies, the smell beginning to dull the more he sits in it. He edges closer and closer to the door, still shivering in nothing but his boxers and bathrobe. The rubber soles of _both_ of his shoes clack with every step, and he winces as the worn out lining scrapes at his bare feet. “Guillermo?” Nandor calls innocently. He holds out his fur-lined dressing gown. Guillermo finally allows himself a small smile, and nods. Nandor drapes it around his shoulders. 

They stand in silence for a moment, hovering there at the entryway. 

“Where is everyone?” he asks. 

“Sleeping, I think. We have all had a very tiring evening.” 

Guillermo doesn’t know what else he could say tonight that wouldn’t end in a shouting match, and he doesn’t have the energy for that, so instead he hovers. 

Nandor sighs greatly, huffing a stray tendril of hair out of his face. Guillermo can’t remember the last time he’s seen him in such a state, if ever. “I can’t believe I am asking you this shit, but...Why has it taken you so long to leave? It has been many years. You have apparently killed _many_ vampires. So what has kept you here?” 

Guillermo scoffs. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Nandor looks at him blankly. “No.” 

Well. There is one more thing he could say tonight. It _could_ end in a shouting match, but Guillermo is so far past tired that he thinks _fuck it_ and blurts, "I'm in love with you."

Nandor does a good job of schooling his features. Guillermo’s eyes are fixed on his still-bare forearms. It’s easy to pretend that Nandor is just a regular person when his forearms are on display. There is an ancient, dusty rose scar just above his left wrist. "Earlier tonight you said you hated my guts."

He scoffs and looks to the ceiling. It’s such a high ceiling. Sometimes, he forgets. It’s like when you live on a tropical island. At first, you might spend every day mystified by how vast and blue the sky is, or how peaceful the sound of the waves are when you awaken. But, eventually, you settle into your routine, and you become so focused on how annoying the seagulls are or how shitty the internet service is that you start to forget to appreciate the beauty. 

He keeps looking at the ceiling. His life is a lot like that, he thinks, but instead he’s gotten so settled into this routine that he’s forgotten how badly decomposing bodies stink or how fiercely it hurts to love someone like Nandor. 

"You can be in love with someone and still hate them sometimes."

"Oh."

Guillermo doesn't know what he expected to hear. A sweeping declaration of reciprocity? Maybe in his wildest, silliest dreams. A lecture? Probably closer to reality. He certainly didn't expect an _oh._

"You don't have to say anything. I think I'd rather you don't." 

“Guillermo…” he begins. Guillermo sighs and takes off his glasses. It’s easier if he can’t see this. The vast expanse of the ceiling becomes one big blur, and his neck begins to hurt so badly from craning it up that he finally lets his head drop back down. “I do… care.”

“ _Nandor.”_

“Wait. I think I am needing to say this. I _do_ care. I do want you here. But… the kiss kiss, hug hug, hearts and roses sort of love I think you are talking about? I do not remember how to feel that. I don’t know if I can any longer. It has been some time.”

“Okay.”

“So it is not about you. It is about me.” 

Nandor is a blur of brown and red and white. Guillermo barks out a mirthless laugh. “Please stop talking.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Guillermo sighs and slides his glasses back on, the colored blobs Nandor’s of face settling back into clarity. He doesn’t look as bereft as Guillermo anticipated. More… curious. His stomach turns. "I think I'm going to go back to my mom. She's probably worried about me."

Nandor stares at him for a moment. "Alright," he says softly. He doesn't look happy about it, but it seems the love declaration has inserted enough discomfort for him to give up his fight. "But you do not have to stay away forever."

"Okay."

"Just because I do not… have romantic feelings for you does not mean I don't care."

"Sure," Guillermo nods. 

"You are crying. I've hurt you."

Sure enough, he _is_ crying. He hadn’t really noticed, but now he’s acutely aware. "I'm just tired. I don't know what to think about any of this." 

“Maybe you should go to your mother’s house after all, then,” Nandor supplies, as though this is just a solution he has come up with himself rather than something Guillermo has been demanding all night. 

Guillermo nods. Even though he’s been asking to leave, practically _begging_ to leave, it still sort of feels like he’s getting kicked out. He goes to shrug off Nandor’s robe, but Nandor stops him with a gentle hand on his arm. The vampire looks down at his own hand before grimacing and pulling away as though he’s been burned. The tears flow even freer, and Guillermo’s heart is gripped so tightly that he can barely breathe with it. 

“You can just bring it back later.” 

Guillermo nods and heads for the door, his shoulders slumped. 

"Guillermo?"

He stops. 

"If I had said that I love you too, would you not be leaving right now?" 

He breathes deeply. "No. I don't think so. I think I'd still be going," he lies.

"Okay." 

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he says to the floor, rubbing his eyes. “And we can clean up the house together.” And without another word, he leaves while he has the chance. 


	2. Don't be afraid to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It's a multi-chapter. I am removing the unhappy ending tag, because I don't think the ending is ultimately unhappy. But I will be adding a "bittersweet ending" tag. 
> 
> I have never written anything like this before, and it's a bit awkward to do so AFTER I've written a chapter without this in mind. But I think I can make it work. I think this may ultimately end up being about 5-6 chapters. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

Guillermo scrapes at his face, laughing through his tears at how stupid he must look. His hair is soaking wet, he’s wearing the strangest layering situation since Disney Channel original movies circa 2002, and the floppy soles of his shoes are letting out rhythmic thuds as he practically runs to his car. 

He barely thinks as he opens the unlocked door. He had totally forgotten to lock up, hadn’t he? What an idiot _he_ is. He can only imagine what he’d do if the car had been stolen. He can’t afford a new one. He doesn’t think his heart can afford staying here much longer, either. 

He pats at the pocket of his robe. And the sinking realization hits him that his keys, along with his phone and wallet, are in his trouser pocket. 

On the floor of the upstairs bathroom. 

Where they are, of course, no help to him. 

“Fuck!” he cries out, pounding his fist on the dashboard. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ ” he pants, his chest heaving as he falls apart into heavy, gasping sobs. “I’m so fucking dumb,” he says out loud to himself through his tears. “I can’t fucking believe this,” he murmurs, letting his head fall back down onto the wheel. He frowns as his forehead hits it with a thud, but he barely processes the pain.

He squeezes his eyes tight and breathes. 

“Aren’t you coming, Gizmo?” Guillermo jolts upward, so abruptly that his eyes go blurry at the edges, and the back of his head hits the headrest behind him. He winces. “Woah there, Guillermo,” Colin tacks on from his place in the passenger seat, pointing at Guillermo’s face. “Those are quite the dramatic-looking tears, buddy. Real _Marriage Story_ level crying there, although I don't think that movie was worth any of the hype.” 

“Wha--” Guillermo breathes, rubbing at his face with the blood-soaked cuff of his jacket. His head spins. _Something isn’t right_ , he thinks. Colin keeps staring at him with equal parts amusement and genuine concern. 

“Why are you crying, Guillermo?” Nandor asks gently from the backseat. Guillermo spins around to stare at him with wide, hazy eyes. He leans away in fear on instinct, and his back hits the wheel. The horn sounds one long, droning echo. “Too loud,” Nandor hisses. Guillermo leans forward, and the horn stops. “Wow, Guillermo. You are looking very pale right now.” 

“I’m…” Guillermo gasps, turning back toward the windshield and grasping onto the wheel for dear life. “Somethings not right,” he mutters under his breath. 

“Hm?” Nandor asks. “What was that?”

“Nothing. _Nothing_ ,” Guillermo insists, the heaving in his chest finally beginning to disperse. He rubs at his eyes again and looks down at his lap at his blood-soaked trousers. Something about _that’s_ not right, either. He _knows_ something about that is not right. But he can’t quite figure out what it is. 

“Alright, well then as soon as you have stopped all of your human crying, I will see you in the house.” 

Colin remains seated. “This is some wild energy, Guillermo. What’s going on in the old noggin? Thinking about all those vampires you killed? That was G-damn exciting.” 

“No… That’s not what I’m thinking about.” He blinks the last of his tears away. “I think I need to go to bed.”

“Well, there’s a closet with your name on it.”

 _No_ , Guillermo thinks, looking in the direction of the house. Nandor is hovering at the door, squinting in the direction of the car. They make eye contact and Nandor quickly turns like he’s been caught red-handed. Guillermo watches as he scampers into the house. _I want to go back to my mom’s house_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. 

“Gizmo? G-man? _Guillermo!?”_ Colin shouts, and Guillermo startles. “Are you coming inside or what?”

“Yeah…” Guillermo murmurs despite his better judgment. 

✞✞

The cool air outside wakes him up from his haze a bit. _Damn_ , he thinks. _I really need to go to bed._ He’s had driving blindness before - that feeling of reaching your destination and not knowing how you got there in one piece, but never has the feeling lasted so far into being parked. Everything between freeing the vampires of their confines, shoving them into his cube-shaped car, and jolting awake in front of the house is a blur. 

A nagging suspicion tells him there was something else in between. He brushes that away. He’s had a long, tiring night, and this is nothing that a nice long nap and a shower can’t fix. 

He walks into the house, wondering if he might be better off just going home to his mom, but then he considers his little jump in time and thinks it might be best not to tempt fate a second time around. As it stands, he doesn’t think he should be driving a car.

He curls his nose up at the smell in the entryway.

There’s a nagging sense that he’s seen this all before, and the feeling is so intense it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He breathes deeply. _Think, Memo. Think._

He _has_ seen it before, when he burst into the house to fetch the minifridge. There’s nothing suspicious about this. It stinks fairly badly, now that he’s gotten past the rushing need to save the vampires. He looks down at the body at his feet and frowns. This one’s been here for a while, he thinks, resisting the urge to bend down and pick her pockets. 

“This is really gross,” he observes, looking over in Nandor’s direction. 

“Yes, well, this is what happens when you are not here to clean up the victims, Guillermo.”

Guillermo scoffs. “Do you really not know how to clean up after yourselves?” 

“I know how to clean up after myself,” Nandor insists proudly. 

“So why are there bodies everywhere?”

“Because Nadja clearly doesn’t know how to clean up after _her_ self.” Nandor makes a disgusted face. “Although, it does stink very badly, doesn’t it? I am surprised your human nose can stand it.”

 _I’m sort of surprised, too_ , Guillermo thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Maybe he’s gotten so used to all of the death and the violence around here that he can’t even smell it anymore. A shiver races up his spine. “I’m just going to stay for a little while,” he says, stepping over a body and making his way into the fancy room. “And then I’m going to go home.” 

Nandor drifts in after him, watching as Guillermo walks over to the fireplace. “Are you not home?” he asks. 

Guillermo’s chest tightens. He moves to respond, but is distracted by the strange happenings in the fireplace. He crouches down and squints at the charred wooden plank lying there. “What is this?” he points, and Nandor frowns. 

“ _That_ is a piece of Laszlo’s piano, because you were not here to light the fire.”

Guillermo scoffs. He points at the hole in the wall near the mantel. “And this?”

“...That is where Laszlo kicked the wall in a fit of rage. Because _you_ were not here to do the laundry,” Nandor accuses harshly. 

Guillermo breathes deeply. A gnawing, crushing feeling in the pit of his stomach tells him he shouldn’t say what he is about to say. But all Nandor can focus on is the fucking _laundry._ He's exhausted, and he hasn’t heard so much as a thank you since he’s saved their sorry asses. 

He swipes at the dust collecting on the mantel, frowning at the gray substance coating his fingers. “You know…” he begins, slapping his hands together to kick it off, sending it flying into the air in a cloud. “Sometimes I fucking hate your guts.” 

Nandor is quiet for a moment, and he seats himself at his desk. He folds his hands on the wooden surface, staring at Guillermo with fury and hurt in his eyes. “If you hate me so much, then why didn’t you just let them cut off my head with the big head cutting machine then, hmm?”

“That’s not fair,” Guillermo laments. “You always do this.”

“Always do _what?_ ” Nandor demands. 

“I…” Guillermo trails off, crossing his arms. What is he talking about? He’s not sure, but he isn’t willing to admit that. “You know. Twist things around like that.” 

“I never twist anything around. It is _you_ who twists things around.” 

“No. I don’t do that. You’re the one who does that.” _I know you are, but what am I?_

“Fine, then. If I am always twisting things around and if you hate my guts so much, then you really ought to have just let them chop off my _fucking_ head and then you would not have to worrying about my twisting or my _fucking_ guts any longer!” 

Guillermo looks at the hole in the wall, and has the sudden urge to kick a new hole on the other side. There’d be a sick sort of symmetry in that, he thinks, but he isn’t sure he can get away with it. “You know, I’m the only reason your head is still connected to your body right now, so maybe _you_ ought to be a bit more grateful.” 

Nandor pounds the desk with a fist, and Guillermo nearly crawls out of his skin. “You never used to talk to me like this! You never would have dared.”

 _I never really talked to you at all,_ he thinks, but the anger in Nandor’s eyes makes him think better of saying it. Instead, he stays silent, blinking at Nandor and taking him in. Curse him, and his stupid fucking face and his stupid fucking hair. Even going off on a tirade, there’s a certain degree of nobility about him. Even twisted in anger, his features are still beautiful.

Even after all this time, Guillermo is still willing to throw everything away for that face. 

“Aren’t you going to say anything, Guillermo?” Nandor brings his voice up to a falsetto. “‘Oh, master, I am sorry for leaving you not once but _twice_. I am sorry I was not here to do the laundry or clean up the bodies--’” 

“Will you catch me?” Guillermo asks urgently. He doesn’t know where the question comes from, but he can’t stop it from spilling out. 

“What?” Nandor asks. 

Guillermo gapes at him. “I don’t know. Forget it. I… maybe I should go after all.”

Nandor stands and crowds into his space. “You are going again? I--” His voice cracks, and his shoulders slump. Guillermo squints at him. Is he crying? No, probably not. 

“What, are you going to beg me not to go? Oh, wait. You don’t beg. I should know.”

Nandor grits his teeth. “Guillermo, you are very pale again.”

“What?” Guillermo asks. “I am? I feel fine.”

“You do not look fine.”

“Well, I am. So you don’t have to pretend to be worried about me, Nandor.”

Nandor gapes like a fish. “What is with you and all of this _Nandor_ shit? Is this who you are now? Little man learns to slay vampires and suddenly he doesn’t know how to respect me anymore?”

Guillermo shakes his head and points at Nandor’s chest. “No. Little man was _born_ to slay vampires, and he’s too tired to put up with your shit anymore.” 

“Go on, then, vampire killer,” Nandor taunts. “Go on and stake me then, if you were _born_ to do it.” 

He could, Guillermo thinks. It wouldn’t be difficult. 

Up close like this, he can see the dusting of grey hair in Nandor’s beard, the lines under his eyes. He flinches at the idea of this face crumbling into dust, and a tidal wave of sadness crashes over him. He relaxes his hand at his side. “No. No, I don’t want to hurt you. I would never.”

“I do not believe you.”

He scoffs and tears prick at his eyes. A dull ache has settled into his head and his legs, and his vision is starting to blur at the edges. “No. I can’t believe _you_. If you honestly think for one second that I could bear -- That I could live with myself if something --”

“ _Guillermo,_ you do not look so good,” Nandor urges, and Guillermo’s eyes roll back into his head as he falls forward into Nandor’s arms. That answers his question, then. 

✞✞

When he awakens, he is only briefly unsure before he becomes aware that he is in Nandor’s room, laying under a thick fur pelt on his chaise. He settles into the not-so-plush fabric of the seat, suddenly realizing that he hasn’t been missing much by not being able to lounge back against these furs and pillows. It’s not all that comfortable after all. 

He grimaces at the fact that he’s still in his bloody sweater, but at least his coat has been removed. It's balled up on the lid of the coffin, alongside a cup of water and a piece of hard candy. He pops the hard candy into his mouth. Butterscotch. Nandor has left him a note, written on one of his countless sticky notes. Guillermo shakes his head, smirking at the thought of Nandor trying to use up 1000 sticky notes all by himself.

_I am in the cell eating. Wash yourself. We will talk after._

He’s sort of surprised Nandor still wants to talk with him, after the chaotic conversation they had in the fancy room, but something about it seems inevitable. It was only a matter of time, he guesses as he straightens out his glasses and takes a gulp of the water. He grimaces as the metallic tang mixes with the butterscotch candy. It’s not exactly the most delectable of combinations. 

He rubs at his eyes and trudges past the bodies and upstairs. Once he’s in the bathroom, he spits out the candy into the trash. It hits the wall of the barrel with a ping. 

He isn’t following Nandor’s orders. No, he is taking a shower entirely of his own volition. He moves to shrug off his shoes, but then thinks better of it, and bends down to untie the laces. Shoving his shoes off ripped the sole on one of his loafers, and he really doesn’t feel like fixing both of them, or, God forbid, having to buy a new pair. 

He cringes as a blood-soaked lock of hair falls into vision as he does it. God, his hair must look so gross. That’s going to have to be the first thing to get washed. He shrugs off the rest of his clothes, places his glasses on the counter, and steps into the shower. He turns the hot water on full blast. The pipes creak, shouting out their disagreement with him, before lukewarm water sputters out of the showerhead. The shower is so dinky that he stands almost at the same height as the showerhead, so he has to duck to get his head under the stream. At least it’s not cold.

He squeezes out a little bit of his cheap shampoo, before lathering his hair and rinsing it. He watches as the water at his feet pools red, the loud sound of the water roaring in his ears. Once again he is overtaken by a sadness so intense tears prick at his eyes. He’s not sure what it is, but the action of washing his hair like this makes him feel lonely, like he shouldn’t be doing this alone. 

But, like most things, he always does this alone. 

Once his hair is clean, he washes his body until the water turns cold and his teeth begin to chatter. There is still blood under his fingernails, but he can certainly save that for the sink. 

He steps out of the shower and looks at the windowsill. It is a blurry, empty expanse of wood and newly-repaired stained glass. He doesn’t know why, but he sort of expected Nandor to be there. Weird. 

There’s a rap on the door. “Guillermo?” Nandor calls from the other side. “I do not hear the water running. Can I come in?”

“Give me a second,” Guillermo replies, quickly wrapping his hair up in his towel. He looks at the floor, squinting at the blurry tile. His clothes are gone. He reaches for his glasses and then wraps himself tightly in the lone, musty bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. He glances down to make sure that he’s fully covered. “Okay, you can come in.”

Nandor bursts into the room and moves to the windowsill, where he plops himself down and puffs his cape-adorned chest proudly. 

“Since you are no longer around to do laundry, Colin Robinson has bought us a machine for washing. I took the liberty of putting your trousers and sweater in there, and now they are in the drying machine. Colin Robinson told me the machine is only for washing our less delicate clothing, and your sweater is kind of itchy, did you know that? So I assumed it was okay.”

Even through the backhanded comment about the quality of his sweater, Guillermo smiles at the gesture, some of the vitriol from their fight earlier starting to dissipate. He shoves his hands under the tap and begins to scrub at his fingernails. “Yeah, that should be fine. Thanks.” 

“What are you doing?” Nandor asks. 

“I’m washing my hands.”

“Does the shower not work?”

Guillermo shakes his head. “It works, but the water went cold. Happens a lot.” 

“I didn’t know this was a problem, Guillermo. There is always ample hot water for my baths.”

“That’s because the downstairs bathroom doesn’t do this very often…” he trails off as that sense of deja vu passes over him once again. He shivers and tacks on, “And if it does, then I just boil water on the stove.” 

“Oh. Good. It is your job to keep my water nice and hot.” 

“Right. It _was_.” 

Nandor grimaces. “You might have told me, you know.”

“What, that the plumbing is shit?”

“Yes. I could have fixed it.” 

Guillermo rolls his eyes. “I don’t think you’re capable of fixing much of anything.” 

Nandor stares at him, his fists balling up. A look of confusion passes over his face, and he blinks like he is waking up from a deep sleep. Guillermo wonders, for a brief moment, if Nandor feels as weird as he does about all of this, but then quickly decides no, probably not. “I will see you downstairs,” Nandor grits, before rising quickly and stalking out of the room, grumbling something under his breath. 

✞✞

Once Guillermo’s satisfied with the state of his nails, he slams the water off and dries his hands perfunctorily. He grabs his shoes and stomps down the stairs. He waits for what feels like an eternity before Nandor emerges with his newly washed-and-dried-and-bleach-stained clothes, balled up in his hands. “Here,” he says, shoving them at Guillermo’s chest. Guillermo steps past a body to duck into the closet. 

It becomes quickly apparent that his clothes are not quite the size they used to be, and he swears under his breath. The pants still fit, thankfully, but the sweater is a lost cause, so he shrugs on his now too-tight white undershirt, followed by the musty robe. 

He emerges from the closet holding his now-shrunken favorite sweater in a tight fist. “You shrunk my favorite sweater, and my trousers are covered in bleach stains.”

Nandor stares at him blankly. “Perhaps, but the blood is all gone!” 

Guillermo huffs out a breath. “Where are my socks?”

“I did not see any socks.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. I just won’t wear socks, then,” he grits, as he bends down to put his shoes back on. “And where is my wallet? And my keys? And my phone?”

“Oh! Right.” Nandor reaches in his trouser pocket. “Here are your keys. And… your wallet and phone, which I am sorry to say I did not realize you had until after the clothes went in the washy machine. But I did not put them into the dryer,” he adds proudly. 

He shoves Guillermo’s water-logged wallet at him. Then his soaked phone.

Guillermo slides the phone into the pocket of his too-tight pants, and wonders if there is enough rice in the world to fix it. He shakes as he opens the main pocket of the wallet. He had about 100 dollars in there, money he had been saving up. It’s soaking wet, and he reaches for it. That’s a fucking mistake, he realizes, because the money rips apart in his grip. “Fuck!” he exclaims, throwing the wallet down in anger. It hits one of the bodies with a thud. “Sorry,” he murmurs to the body.

“Well, Guillermo, she is dead, so you have nothing to be sorry about.” 

“Right. But _you_ do. My fucking wallet, Nandor? And my phone?”

Nandor scoffs in disbelief. “I did not mean to! It was an honest mistake. I was _trying_ to help.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Guillermo says, and his voice is so thick with sarcasm that even Nandor can pick up on it. 

The vampire crosses his arms. “Why haven’t you left yet?” he exclaims. “You have been angry with me all night, and nothing I do is good enough for you! Actually, I am wondering why it took you so long to leave in the first place, since you can’t stand me!”

“Because I’m in love with you, you fucking idiot!” Guillermo shouts, and it’s anything but soft or romantic, like he might have intended once upon a time. “I’m in love with you, and you’re too dense to pick up on it.” 

“So which is it Guillermo? Do you love me or am I stupid and you hate my fucking guts?”

“Both.”

Nandor looks at the floor and bares his fangs. “I think it is really time for you to be leaving, Guillermo,” he grumbles. 

Guillermo deflates. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, the full weight of what he just confessed landing on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you like that, and I understand if you don’t--”

“Guillermo, I think it is best you leave before you say anything else.”

“Right,” Guillermo says, his voice thick with emotion. “I can come back tomorrow to clean up, if you want.”

“Maybe. That would be very helpful. Thank you.”

“Okay. I’m just going to--”

“Yes. Good night.” 

Guillermo grabs his keys and his water-logged wallet, and sprints back to his car, the sole of his shoe slapping against his foot with every quick step. Once he’s in his car, he slumps over and presses his face against the wheel, the sickening feeling that this won’t be the last time he does this filling his stomach with dread. 


	3. Leave but don't leave me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a little bit of crackpot world building in this chapter. I’ve never seen some of the more famous time loop media - like Groundhog Day or Russian Doll, so this is all just my own creativity. And I make the rules. Just don’t get too bogged down in the details. 
> 
> Please enjoy.

“Are you coming, my darling?” Laszlo calls from just outside the rear right door, and Guillermo jolts upward once again. 

“Yes, go on without me, my love,” Nadja grits. Guillermo turns to look at his three car-mates. Colin’s eyes are flashing blue wildly, Nandor looks understandably confused, and Nadja has her arms crossed, a deep scowl on her face. “Go on, boys. I am going to talk to Mr. Crucifix for a moment.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Colin asks with a _har har_. “Gizmo here doesn’t look too good! He might just stake you if you aren’t careful.”

“Stop it, Colin Robinson,” Nandor insists. “He is right though, Guillermo. You are not looking so good. Very pale.”

“Get. Out.” Nadja hisses, and Guillermo watches them go in silence. 

“So, Guillermo,” Nadja begins in a downright disturbing sing-song voice once they’ve left, slowly tapping across Guillermo’s shoulder with her long nails. “Have you been feeling any creepy crawly deja vu feelings?”

Guillermo chuckles nervously. He doesn’t understand what the fuck she’s talking about, but he is immediately compelled to admit, “Yes.”

“Right. Good, so you can tell. And do you have any idea why that might be happening?”

“Um… no?”

“Because the whole house is stuck in a stupid bloody time loop! And you have to fix it, you stupid donkey!”

Guillermo laughs so hard that his cheeks hurt, but Nadja stares at him blank-faced. His laughter ends abruptly. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. I am very serious. I have heard of this before. I know the signs. I can smell the creepy crawly stench of a _time loop_ from a mile away!”

“And the others? Have _they_ noticed anything out of the ordinary?”

She rolls her eyes and huffs. “No, and even if they did, I am sure my Laszlo would have some sort of pig-dick explanation for it all. But _I_ know a time loop when I am bloody in one! And I am risking a lot to even be talking with you right now, because this is not supposed to be happening!” 

He grabs the wheel and humors her. “Okay, let’s say we’re in a time loop.”

“We are.” 

“Okay. Sure. We’re in a time loop. How does one get out of a time loop?”

“A time loop is like… the universe’s way of fixing a mistake," Nadja explains, her hands gesticulating in the air. "If you fix whatever mistake you are making, you can get out of the time loop. Can’t you remember anything?” 

He closes his eyes and tries to remember. Fuzzy recollections of arguments... and taking a shower, strangely enough, come to mind. He shakes his head, clearing the thoughts. “No,” he lies. “I can’t remember a thing.”

“Well, if you do not fix the loop tonight, you need to leave something for yourself here. A talisman to remember. Hopefully, if it crosses over the loop with you, it can remind you.” 

“Right. I’ll do that.” He doesn’t move to do a damn thing. 

She screeches out a nonsense syllable and opens the car door so violently he fears for the integrity of the chassis for a moment. “You better! Fix. This.” 

“I’m going back to my mom’s!” he calls out. He moves to shift the car into drive with a trembling hand, mind full of time loops and hazy memories, but his attention is called to an angry, blinking red light on the dash. 

Out of gas. Fuck. He could have sworn there was at least a quarter of a tank left. 

“Or, I guess I’m going in the house,” he mutters to himself, before turning off the car. 

✞✞✞

He pushes into the house in silence, staring blankly at the bodies littering the floor of the entryway. He frowns down at them impassively. Objectively, this is a pretty disgusting scene; blood pooled on the floor, corpses strewn about the stairwell. He should be more affected, but instead he just squints, unable to shake the bitter suspicion that he’s seen it all before. 

Nandor stands in the doorway to the library, hands on his hips as he watches Guillermo survey the damage these idiots have inflicted in just a short span of time. “Pretty gross, huh?” Nandor asks, and Guillermo stares at him. Nandor’s eyebrows furrow, and he shakes his head. “This is what happens when _you_ are not here to clean!” he accuses half-heartedly. 

“Yeah, well,” Guillermo starts, sighing laboriously as he crouches down to pick-pocket a well-dressed corpse near his feet. Her wallet is empty, and guilt crashes over him as he realizes what he’s doing. He throws the wallet back down with a huff. “You guys don’t know how to use a mop?”

Nandor looks at him strangely. “That is not our job. That is _your_ job.” 

Guillermo nods and wanders into the fancy room, surveying the damage in there. His eyes immediately go to the fireplace, where there is a hole in the wall just to the side of the mantel. _Someone must have kicked it_ , he thinks. “Yeah. It _was_ my job.” 

Nandor follows him into the room and plops himself down onto the sofa, leaning back with a sigh. Guillermo inspects the dust on the mantel with a sneer. How is it that he is gone not even a week and the entire house falls into disarray? Are they that inept? Or, some naïve part of him supplies, _did they miss me?_

“Pretty long night,” Nandor breaks the silence awkwardly. 

“You can say that again,” Guillermo mutters, slapping his hands together to kick the dust off, sending it flying into the air in a cloud. 

“We could have been killed,” Nandor states. 

“Yeah, but you weren’t,” Guillermo huffs. _Thanks to me_. 

Nandor squints at him suspiciously. Guillermo shrinks a little under his gaze. It’s not comfortable, sitting in awkward silence like this with his former master, but at least the deja vu is mostly gone, replaced with the tense silence in the air. 

He scoffs to himself for ever even humoring the idea of a time loop. _This_ has never happened before, he insists to himself as he aimlessly begins to tidy the room. _This conversation has never happened before. This night has never happened before._ He repeats it over and over like a mantra, until finally his thoughts are interrupted by Nandor. 

“Aren’t you going to say anything? Aren’t you going to explain yourself?” Nandor demands, his brows furrowed and his fists clenched at his sides. 

The outraged tone of his lilting accent makes Guillermo tense, and his mantra shifts from _this has never happened before_ to _oh, here we fucking go again_. He wants to stay quiet. He wants to just wait this out, and then make an excuse to leave. 

Instead, words pour out of his mouth. “Me? Me explain _myself_ ? When I put my entire fucking life on the line for you and all you can think about is the goddamn _laundry_? All I want to do is go home, and you won’t fucking let me!” Nandor doesn’t say anything, so Guillermo fills the silence. “And you keep rubbing the fact that you almost died in my face! How do you think that makes me feel, Nandor? How do you think it makes me feel for you to tell me to stake you in the chest? How can you think for one fucking second that’d I want to hear that? Yeah, I may hate your fucking guts sometimes, but I don’t want anything to fucking happen to you!” 

“You… you hate me?”

Guillermo grits his teeth. “Yes. Sometimes, I do.”

“Well… why don’t you just…” Nandor trails off, and his features scrunch tightly. He claws at his temples with his hands. 

“What?” he asks, voice thick with _I dare you._

“I was already thinking that if you are so angry at me, then you should have just let them…” he frowns and stomps his foot angrily. “Fuck this shit.”

Fuck. _Fuck._

 _“Catch me,”_ Guillermo begs, before he falls back against the mantel.

✞✞✞

He wakes up on the couch in Nandor’s room, haphazardly strewn amongst the pillows. One of his legs is hanging off the side, and the sole of his shoe dangles down where it's ripped from the base of his shoe. His head pounds, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. His stomach growls, and his mouth waters. 

His coat is folded neatly on the closed lid of Nandor’s coffin, near a glass of water and a sticky note. He gulps down the water gratefully, cringing at the metallic taste. It must be straight from the tap, he thinks, but he finishes it anyway. He frowns at the note, etched in Nandor’s sprawling handwriting. 

_Eating. Go wash up. Talk after._

He blinks. And then, without thinking much of it, he folds the sticky note in half and shoves it in his back pocket, before trudging out of Nandor's room, past the bodies, and up the stairs. He peels his sweater and undershirt off together, cringing at the way the blood-soaked fabric clings to his skin, before he bends down to untie his laces. He crouches under the sink and grabs a plastic grocery bag, arranges his clothes in a neat little pile, and shoves them in the bag. He sets his glasses on top. 

He winces in pain as the physical activity of the night catches up with him, and he longs to put his back and shoulders under the hot stream of water. He moves to step into the shower, but then thinks better of it for a moment. Instead, first he grabs a towel and his robe, hanging them right outside of the shower. 

He steps into the tub and turns the hot water on full blast. The pipes creak before lukewarm water sputters out of the showerhead. He stands back so the tepid stream is directed at chest, and he scrubs furiously at his skin. The temperature of the water does little to soothe the ache in his muscles, but at least he is able to scrub away the blood on his neck and under his fingernails, angrily chipping away at the layer of grime that’s settled over his skin. He watches with rapt attention as the water at his feet turns maroon. 

The small relief from the lukewarm water only lasts a few minutes before the stream turns ice cold. He sighs and shuts off the tap. The sink it is, then. 

He reaches past the curtain to where he has hung his towel, sops up the water on his chest perfunctorily, and then grabs the robe, wrapping himself up tight. He flings open the shower curtain. “When did you get in here?” he asks as he hobbles out of the tub. 

Nandor sits with his leg crossed on the wooden windowsill, and his gaze is fixed through a rose-colored pane of newly repaired stained glass. “While you were taking your shower. You know this shoe is broken, Guillermo?” he asks, holding up one of Guillermo’s loafers.

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t even hear you come in.” He leans back into the shower to grab the shampoo bottle and heads toward the sink. 

“Yes, well, your human ears must not be very good.” Guillermo doesn’t humor that with a response. He doesn’t quite know what to say, anyways. “What are you doing?” Nandor demands. 

“Washing my hair in the sink. The hot water ran out. This tap heats up quicker.”

“Oh.” Nandor frowns. “I guess that makes sense. But there is always ample hot water for my baths downstairs.”

“That’s because the tap downstairs works better. And _I_ always make sure your baths are hot, one way or another.”

“Yes, because that is your job.”

“It _was_.”

Nandor grimaces and blinks rapidly. “I feel like we said these exact things before.”

“Yeah, earlier tonight,” Guillermo grumbles, rolling his eyes. _There is no fucking_ _time loop, Guillermo_ he scolds himself internally as he ducks under the stream of water and struggles to wash his hair. 

“Let me help you.”

“You don’t have to do that. You can just go.” 

“ _No_ ,” Nandor insists, and suddenly the bottle is snatched from Guillermo’s grip. Long fingers card their way into his damp hair, and Guillermo closes his eyes, sighing dreamily. His back and shoulders sting just enough to tamper his reaction to the intimate feeling of Nandor’s cool hands gently cleaning his blood-matted hair. 

“Okay, that is good, I think,” Nandor hisses, stepping back. He looks down at his now water-soaked cuffs and frowns. “My shirt is all wet!” 

“Sorry,” Guillermo frowns as he dries his mostly clean hair with the towel. “I’ll see you downstairs, okay? And then I’m going to go home.” _You're out of gas_ , a nagging voice reminds him. Oh well. He'll find a way. He places his glasses back on his face, and Nandor’s disappointed face comes into clear view. 

“Are you not home?”

“I… meant I want to go back to my mom.”

“So you are leaving again.” 

Guillermo pounds the countertop with a clenched fist. “Nandor. Just. _Wait downstairs_.”

“Fine,” Nandor huffs, slamming the door behind him. Guillermo sighs and looks forward at the destroyed area on the wall where a mirror should be. He wishes he could see how he looks right now. Does he look any different? It’s silly to think he might. But he feels different, now that he’s settled into the full strength of his abilities. And now that he’s admitted to being in love with Nandor. 

He furrows his eyebrows and scratches at his damp scalp. No, he hasn't done _that,_ has he? Weird fucking night, he thinks, before grabbing the bag of his clothes and padding back down the stairs. He frowns as he steps over a body and takes in the sight of Nandor’s back turned to him. He breathes deeply, scanning his eyes over Nandor’s broad shoulders, berating himself for the feelings they stir deep within him. 

“I’m leaving,” he announces. “Not forever, but for tonight.”

“You can’t!” Nandor spins around. “I--” His voice breaks. Guillermo sighs tiredly. “Why do you keep doing this? Why don’t you want to stay? Because you hate me so much?”

“No. Because I _love_ you so much.”

Nandor gapes. “I… You… _Love_? What sort of love?”

Guillermo scoffs and throws his hands up in exasperation. “You know. Kissing, hugging, hearts and roses sort of love. The kind of love you don’t know how to feel, right?” he spits nastily. Nandor recoils. “Well, what do you say? What do you say about me being in love with you?”

“I think….” Nandor says, looking down at the floor. His voice is quiet and trembling, as unsteady as Guillermo feels in his knees. “Well, do not cry about it.”

“Huh?” Guillermo’s hand flies up to his face, shoving away his emerging tears. “I’m sorry. I’m just… really sorry about all of this. It’s all my fault.” 

Nandor steps aside and lets Guillermo walk past and out the door. The cold air outside makes his arms erupt in goose pimples, and his bare feet burn where they touch the freezing ground. His _shoes_. His fucking old, smelly, broken shoes are still upstairs. 

He walks toward the car regardless, cringing at the feeling of the earth under his toes. Once he’s in the car, he closes his eyes and his world tilts. He's again reminded that he doesn’t have any gas, he doesn’t have any shoes, and there is a phantom grip on the back of his neck, compelling him to shove his face forward into the steering wheel.

He feels as though he could vomit, but he knows all that would spill up is water. His fingers blindly reach for the pocket of his trousers, and he pulls out the sticky note. He grabs a pen from his center console. 

_Okay, Nadja._ This better fucking work. 

He sticks the note over the speedometer, and lets his head fall forward onto the wheel. 

✞✞✞✞

“Aren’t you coming, Gizmo?” Colin asks, and his eyes creak open. 

The first thing he sees is his own handwriting on a bright pink paper, a messy scrawl of _remember_. There’s a brief moment of foggy confusion before the onslaught on his skull begins. He hisses in pain as the memories flood back to him all at once, and he reaches for his temples, clawing at them. 

Fuck. _Fuck._ The sensation is like nothing he's ever felt before, like there are tiny pin-pricks all over his skull, and he sits through cascades of anger and fear and despair as he remembers everything he's said and done, not just in the theatre but in this house, over and over again. He feels like he could vomit all over his shoes. He laughs and wiggles his toes. _Shoes._

Once the memories settle into place the pain subsides, and he opens his eyes once again. 

Sure enough, the gas gauge is back up to a quarter of a tank. 

Mother fucking _time loop_. He laughs manically, rising in volume and wildness until he can't help but throw his head back with it. 

“Are you okay there, Gizmo? You’re laughing like The Joker in _The Joker_ , which was--”

“Yeah, I’m fine," he says through his guffaws. "Go on," he urges, and Colin and Nandor might not know they're in a time loop, but they certainly recognize a man on the brink when they see one. Once they're gone, Guillermo's laughter fades. The universe wants to give him a time loop? Fine. "Let’s go in the fucking house, then," he says to the empty car. 

✞✞✞✞

The feeling of Nandor’s fingers against his scalp is no less intimate, nor is it any easier to stop himself from saying all sorts of things he know he shouldn’t say. 

✞✞✞✞✞

“Is the steering wheel comfy there, Guillermo?” Colin asks. 

“Oh, that’s a new one.” 

✞✞✞✞✞✞

“Aren’t you coming, Gizmo?”

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

“Looking a little worse for wear there, Guillermo.”

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

“Aren’t you coming, Gizmo?” 

This one, at least, is a little different. At some point between _I hate your fucking guts_ and _Why don’t you just stabby stab_ _me then?_ the trim of Nandor’s cape ends up in the newly-lit fireplace. Really, there is nothing quite like the stench of a burning hundred-years-old cape filling your nostrils as you hurl insults at the love of your life. 

_Remember,_ Guillermo jots on the sticky note. _And don’t like the fire this time._

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

“Aren’t you coming, Gizmo?” Colin asks, and there’s a moment of hazy panic, one solitary moment of desperate wondering about where he is and what’s going on until his eyes trail over his own handwriting and the pain overtakes his head once again. He hisses through it, and curses the fact that it still hurts, even after countless loops around. He tries to remember how many nights it’s been, and laments the fact that he didn’t think to count. It might be 8 or 9, and might as well be 9000. 

He doesn’t lift his head from its place pressed against the wheel. He is too fucking tired to lift it. 

“Guillermo? Colin Robinson, why would you drain Guillermo?” 

“I didn’t!” Colin defends, at the same time as Guillermo mumbles, “he didn’t.” 

“Go on. I’ll come inside in a bit,” he sighs, finally raising his head. He rubs at his face. 

Once the pair is gone, he allows himself to let out one long, harsh scream, pounding the dashboard with his fists. _Fuck it_ , he thinks, and he can’t think much of anything else. Fuck this night, and fuck this time loop. 

It’s all going to be forgotten, anyways. He might as well do whatever the fuck he wants with it. 

He storms into the house, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang that makes Nandor jump. “Guillermo!” he chides. “After the night we have had, it is not very nice for you to be slamming the door. Everyone is _sleeping_.” 

“Sorry,” Guillermo says, devoid of any emotion, and he pushes past the bodies on the floor. He barrels toward Nandor’s room, and flings open the door so fast it collides with the wall behind it. He doesn’t even flinch. 

“What are you doing?” 

His focus is on one thing and one thing alone. In the corner of the room, hidden not-so-discreetly under a fur pelt, is Nandor’s secret box of memories. In his 11 years of service, he’s never dared look inside. 

_Fuck it_. He crouches down and retrieves the box, ignoring Nandor’s angry sputtering behind him as he breaks open the latch and begins to rifle through it. 

“What are you doing?” Nandor repeats, nearly shouting. 

“Nothing,” Guillermo lies, pushing past a Baskin Robbins coupon and a letter he can’t read. He frowns at a container of glitter that has opened and spilled gold dust all over the inside of the box. _Stupid fucking glitter_ , he thinks, sorting through more assorted pieces of paper. Old advertisements, postcards, a tiny painting of a horse. A receipt with faded lettering. He squints at it, and wonders if he is imagining _Panera Bread_ at the top. Strange, but nothing he sees really gives him pause. 

Until he gets to the bottom of the box. 

To a group of polaroid pictures. 

Of Nandor. And some guy. At a club, at a protest, wearing goofy grins and huddled close. He feels like an outsider looking at these pictures. He’s catapulted back to memories of high school, of hearing about parties he wasn’t invited to in the halls. _1974_ is written on the bottom of one of the photos, and he is crushed by the revelation that these are pictures of Nandor living it up with one Benjy fucking Everett. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, and he’s startled by how hoarse his voice sounds. It’s only then he realizes his eyes are filled with tears, his chest is heaving, and his grip on the photo is so tight that he runs the risk of damaging it. 

Suddenly, he is hauled back and up by Nandor’s strong grasp, dangling him inches off the ground by the collar of his filthy trench coat. He kicks his legs out and wiggles his arms, trying futilely to claw his way out of his hold. Nandor looks at him sternly, disappointment shining in his brown eyes. “Put me down!” The photos flutter out of his hands, drifting through the air like feathers before they scatter all over the floor. “Benjy really was the best familiar you’ve ever had, huh?”

“Guillermo,” Nandor begins, his eyes wide with panic. He lowers Guillermo back to the ground slowly, but keeps his grasp on his collar tight. “Benjy was… well, there were a lot of drugs going around in the 70s…”

Guillermo reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He gets his password wrong three times before he finally gets in and opens the camera app. “I don’t get to have a picture with you?” he demands, shoving the camera in Nandor’s face and pressing the shutter. The flash lights up Nandor’s face and he hisses, squinting and leaning away from the light. Guillermo takes another picture followed by two more in rapid succession, watching as the artificial light brings out the true pallor of Nandor’s skin.

“Will you stop that shit?” Nandor grits, and he pushes the phone away from his face. It flies across the room at an impossible speed before slamming into the wall and breaking into a thousand pieces. “Oh no. Your cellular telephonic device.” The tie in Nandor’s suddenly hair breaks loose and his top bun comes unraveled. His hair cascades dramatically around his face, and even through Guillermo's indignation, the sight still takes his breath away. 

“You know…” Guillermo says, adjusting the hem of his dirty sweater as his legs kick pathetically. “Sometimes I hate your fucking guts.” Oh. He’s said it again, he realizes, and he begins to laugh, low in his throat. Nandor looks at him cautiously. 

Even after doing everything differently, somehow they always end up back here. 

“Fine, then! If you hate me so much, then why didn’t you just let them cut off my head with the big head cutting machine?” A tendril of hair makes its way in front of Nandor’s mouth, and he blows it away forcefully. 

Even after hearing this so many times, these words still make him so angry he can’t see straight. 

“Fuck you. And fuck _this_ ,” he spits. “I can’t be here anymore. I can’t breathe in this house.” 

Nandor finally drops his grip on Guillermo’s coat, frowning deeply at his hand. It’s now covered in flakes of dried vampire-blood, remnants from the back of Guillermo’s coat. Guillermo takes the short window of time when Nandor is distracted to race out of the house. 

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

Outside, at least, the air is brisk and cool on his face. It does little to cool him down, but it’s a shock to his system enough that he feels a little bit more tethered to the ground beneath him. 

"You're all dirty," Nandor calls as he chases behind him, grimacing wildly. His hair swoops around his face. 

"You're right! I am! But look… there's some water right here!" he says in a rush, before promptly dunking his head straight into the koi pond.

Which is ice cold. 

_Fuck._

Nandor once again man-handles him, hauling him up and back by his shoulders. Guillermo's appendages go limp like a ragdoll as he sputters and coughs, his body's futile attempt to clear his passageways of the stinging, swampy water. "What the fuck did you do that for?" Nandor shouts. "Are you insane?" 

“Maybe,” Guillermo scoffs through his coughing fit, pushing his hair out of his face. 

He gets one last look at Nandor’s face, nearly shrouded by his now unruly hair, and the look in his eyes - such open despair and anger and confusion and disappointment written so clearly there in his gaze - does the trick to finally bring about the exhaustion that inevitably overtakes him. 

This time, however, he’s already on the ground. 

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

When he awakens, he reaches over, expecting his hand to collide with soft fur. Instead, it bumps into the porcelain of the ancient tub, and he swears under his breath. He’s on the floor of the upstairs bathroom, it seems, with one of Nandor’s precious throw pillows from the entryway shoved under his towel-wrapped head. He inspects his shoddy patchwork where he repaired the pillow after it was destroyed, and squints at a new red stain adorning the embroidered fabric. He doesn’t need to guess what it is. 

He looks around for anything familiar about this scene, but there’s nothing. No glass of water, no candy (although, he’s learned, that isn’t a definite), no sticky note. 

Well, he doesn’t need a note to know what comes next. He slithers out of his clothing and his shoes, tossing them across the floor with a thud. He lets out an embarrassing sound as he heaves himself off of the floor. The deep ache in his muscles feels like it’s been built by not just one night of vampire slaying, but countless evenings of slaying and fighting and crying. And now, he notes with a certain degree of sick humor, an evening of being dragged around by Nandor like a ragdoll and shoving his head in the fucking koi pond. 

“Real smart, Memo,” he says out loud to himself, because he is so past caring about who hears him. He gets into the shower. “Feeling blue? Boy, have I got the solution for you! Just stick your head in a fucking koi pond. _Pendejo._ ” 

He continues to rant quietly at himself as he scrubs blood and pond water out of his hair as quickly as he can before the warm water runs out. He makes it in record time, and his skin is suitably clean and red-raw just as the water goes cold. 

When he flings open the shower curtain, he is still surprised to see Nandor sitting at the windowsill. He lets out a gasp and closes the curtain again. 

“Relax, Guillermo. Do not worry about me looking at your squishy bits. I have seen many many people’s--”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Can you hand me a towel, please?”

Nandor hands him the dirty, pond-water soaked towel from the floor. Guillermo rolls his eyes. “Thanks,” he grits, opting instead to shimmy a bit behind the cover of the curtain, shaking his head like a wet dog. 

“What are you doing?” Nandor asks with a hint of amusement. 

“I’m _air drying_.”

His musty robe is then draped over the metal shower rod. He grabs it and wraps it tightly around himself. He’s a little surprised by how unaffected he is by the cold air in the house as he steps out of the shower, but, then again, it might be one of those things he’s gotten used to, like how high the ceiling in the entryway is. 

He can barely even smell the stench of the bodies anymore. 

Once his glasses are on, he can see the room in focus. His clothes are still in a heap on the floor, but he quickly notices that his shoe is, instead, in Nandor’s grasp, as he squeezes out a copious amount of Elmer’s craft glue on the sole. 

“What are _you_ doing?” 

“Your shoe,” Nandor says simply. “It was broken. I am gluing it back together.” 

“With craft glue?” 

Nandor gapes at him in confusion and shrugs as if to say _yes, and what about it?_

“Give me that,” Guillermo laughs, taking the shoe out of Nandor’s grasp. “I don’t think that’ll work, but thanks.” 

“I wasn’t finished!” Nandor shouts, standing up in a whirlwind of fabric. “I am not incompetent, you know! I am a 758 year old _vampire,_ and I think I know how to glue a shoe back together!” 

Well, this is new terrain. Nandor’s never said anything quite like this in any of the repeats thus far, and Guillermo doesn’t know how to respond to it. Anger begins to bubble up in his gut, and he thinks of a few things he _could_ say, insults he could hurl that would bring them back to the start.

Instead, his gaze is fixed on Nandor’s aghast expression, his hair still unkempt and his lips parted. 

And in the spirit of _fuck it_ , he surges forward, letting the shoe tumble out of his grasp onto the floor. He forcefully knocks his lips into Nandor's, pouring years worth of longing and anguish and days' worth of _time loop_ into the kiss. The feeling of Nandor's cool mouth under his unravels him, and he reaches up, cupping Nandor's bearded face in his hands. At first, the kiss is anything but pleasant, a harsh press of lips, but then a blossoming hope pierces past the crust of apathy he's planted tonight, and he thinks for one bright, shiny moment _this is going to break the loop._ He vividly remembers what Nandor said on that first night, that he doesn't remember _how_ to love, and he thinks that maybe if he kisses a little harder, holds on a little tighter, he can teach him. 

But Nandor is eerily, inhumanly still against him. 

Guillermo pulls back. Nandor is pale, even more so than usual. Guillermo can only imagine what _he_ looks like. 

"Why did you do that?"

He's still holding Nandor's face in his hands, he realizes. He gives one final press of his thumb against Nandor’s soft beard, trying to memorize the sensation. Then he drops his hands. "I…" 

This, too, must be inevitable. 

"I'm in love with you."

Nandor's shoulders shoot up close to his ears, and he squeezes his eyes tight. Guillermo waits, his heartbeat hammering in his ears before Nandor finally lets out one long breath of air through his nose and his shoulders deflate back to their normal position. "Guillermo," he begins. "I want you to know that you are my friend."

" _Fuck_!" Guillermo stammers, bending down to retrieve his shoe. He shuffles them onto his feet, his hands becoming coated in Elmer’s glue in the process. “I’m sorry,” he gasps through his new tears. He scoops up his clothes. 

“Right, then. I’ll see you.” He chuckles bitterly, bringing his dirty clothes closer to his chest and looking anywhere but at Nandor’s face. "I was going to say tomorrow, but it's not tomorrow. I thought it might be. I'll see you again, then.”

“I do not understand what you are talking about.”

“Yeah, me neither, _friend_ ,” he replies quietly, before he’s back out the door. 

Once he’s back in the car, he quickly realizes that he has no sticky note to write _remember_ on. For a brief moment, he considers the option of just _not_ reminding himself, of starting the next loop fresh with no recollections of Polaroid pictures or rejections.

He thinks of forgetting what it feels like to kiss Nandor, and his heart is in a vice. 

He rifles through the glove compartment, and pulls out a lone fast food napkin. He sighs deeply, before whispering out loud, “ _Fuck it._ ” His pen scrapes awkwardly across the surface of the napkin.

His head tilts forward, and he hopes the next time around is a little easier. 


	4. Look around, choose your own ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Nandor is not too out of character in this installment. I feel like he’s shown that when the chips are down, he has the ability to be very soft and patient with Guillermo. I hope that shines through here, and that it’s believable. 
> 
> If you can believe it, this is the second to last chapter. I feel like I could keep going over and over again, but it’d get even more redundant than it already is. I only originally outlined for maybe 5 loops, but then felt inspired to add more, so this is already more than I intended to write lol. I’ve tried to make it a logical conclusion, and I hope it doesn’t feel rushed. 

“Alright there, Guillermo?” Colin asks. 

Guillermo’s eyes fly open, and he is greeted by the sight of a napkin, covered in blue pen. He squints, trying to recognize the word he sees there. His head tilts. “Hu- _h_ ?” he breathes, his voice cracking as he realizes it says _remember_ and the pain that accompanies remembering rushes over him once again. 

He raises his head slowly. He takes a deep breath, before craning his sore neck around to look at Nandor in the backseat. He is sitting with his hands clasped in his lap, his broad chest encased in the seatbelt, blissfully unaware of what has just transpired. He raises his eyebrows at him. “Are you okay, Guillermo? You are not looking so good.”

He spins back around in his seat and grips the steering wheel, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth once, twice, three times before he feels like he can speak. 

“Get out,” he whispers, and he is surprised when Colin and Nandor say nothing more. They leave the car dutifully, and he watches them go, wondering not for the first time how it is that they haven’t seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. 

He peers up at the rear view mirror, reaching to tilt it downward so he can finally get a look at his face. Everything seems to be in order, discounting the matted blood in his hair and the sullen look in his eyes. His facial features haven’t scrambled. There are no new lines or wrinkles. “Let's end this,” he grits at his reflection. 

He crawls out of the car and slams the door shut, forgoing locking it. He looks up at the night sky, at the shining stars that somehow still exist above him. A surge of fury so intense washes over him that he can’t help but scream at the vast sky. “I just want to go home!” he shouts, and the sky says nothing back. _Figures_.

He takes a deep breath and turns toward the house. Then, as though the silent stars in the night sky are beckoning him, he walks to the back of the car, opens the trunk, and lets his hand dance over the holster that adorned his chest. His fingers hesitate around the base of one of his stakes.

He closes his fist around it. 

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

He walks up the stairs to the house. He rolls his head slowly to crack his neck, wincing as the delicate joints pop, and then he straightens out his shoulders and listens to the cracks they shout out as well. He feels like he’s warming up for something, but he hasn’t yet decided what it is. Another go around, then? He saw what had happened the last time he decided to go off script. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries very hard not to think about it. He tries very hard not to remember, so hard that his head begins to dully ache at his temples. 

Finally, he makes his way into the house, and he stares blankly at the bodies on the floor. 

“Not very pleasant, is it?” Nandor asks, his arms crossed as he surveys the scene. “ _This_ is what happens when you are not around, Guillermo.”

He’s heard this before, so it shouldn’t bother him, but goddamn him it still does. “You guys don’t know how to clean?”

Nandor pouts. “Well, _I_ know how to clean, but this is not my mess to clean.”

“So instead you’ve just let yourself live in filth.”

“I--” Nandor frowns. “You were gone.”

Guillermo shakes his head and makes his way into the fancy room, gravitating toward the fireplace once again. His hand skates over the surface of the mantel. He thinks for a moment that maybe he’ll lift his hand, and it will be clean. But, sure enough, his palm is coated in dust. He slaps his hands together and watches the dust kick into the air. 

“You’re right,” he muses. “I was gone, Nandor. Can you believe there was actually a time I was _free_ from this house?”

Nandor scoffs. “You say that as though you are a prisoner here. As though this is not your home.”

“Aren’t I?” he demands. “Aren’t I a prisoner here?”

Nandor gapes at him as though he has struck him across the face, recoiling. “If that is how you feel, no wonder you are sneaking behind my back and killing vampires! No wonder you don’t talk to me anymore!”

“Yes, I _know_ that I have been killing vampires!” Guillermo spits. “I know I’ve been keeping secrets! You don’t have to keep reminding me! God, I--”

Nandor hisses angrily. “The g-word, Guillermo! You are gone for a week and you are already forgetting not to say that word?”

“You know…” Guillermo breathes. “Sometimes I hate your fucking guts.”

Nandor shakes his head, a flash of disappointment on his face before it is quickly erased by fury. "If you hate me so much, then why don't you just take out one of those stakes you are so practiced with and just stabby stab me right in the chest? Get it over with?" 

He has heard these words before, of course, but when he closes his eyes tight against the onslaught of them, his mind drifts away, and all he can think of is Polaroid pictures and Nandor’s cool mouth beneath his own. All he can consider is the sting of rejection, over and over again, being trapped here in this house where nothing he says or does could ever be good enough. 

Lightning fast, Guillermo finds himself crowding into Nandor’s space. The sole of his broken shoe drifts down toward the floor as he shifts his weight to his toes. He shoves his face into Nandor’s, perversely close to the initiation of a kiss. But instead of his lips against Nandor’s mouth, he presses the sharp tip of his stake against the brocade of Nandor’s vest, just over his heart. “Maybe I should,” he whispers. “Maybe I’ll do it right now. That’s one way to end this.”

For once, Nandor doesn’t yell. Nandor’s eyes don’t blaze with fury as he dares him to do this very thing. Instead, Nandor chokes, “ _Guillermo_ ,” his eyes wide with genuine surprise and fear and heartbreak. 

Just as quickly as Guillermo found himself pressing the stake against Nandor’s chest, he finds himself tossing it across the room with a clatter and sinking down to a heap at Nandor’s feet. His knees ache as he crumples to the floor, and his entire body begins to violently shake at the idea of Nandor crumbling into dust, coating his hands, kicking up into the air and drifting into his nose and mouth. 

"Oh, _fuck_ ," He buries his face in his blood-stained hands, harsh cries wracking his frame. "Oh my _God_." Nandor doesn't react. "I didn't mean to," he gasps. "I would never do that. You have to believe me." 

Nandor stays standing above him, looking down at him blankly, before he too crouches down to the floor, lowering himself to Guillermo’s level. 

"Okay, Guillermo.” He tentatively reaches forward to place a gentle hand on Guillermo’s shoulder, frowning at the blood soaking his neck and the front of his sweater. “You are still very dirty,” he observes quietly. “Is that uncomfortable?”

Guillermo nods through his tears. 

“You are very pale, and your heart is not thudding very often, Guillermo. Can you stand?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Let's get you cleaned up then," Nandor breathes in a slight sing-song voice, before sneaking one strong arm under his knees and the other across his back. He heaves him up into a bridal carry without so much as a grunt of exertion. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Guillermo repeats, curling in on himself in Nandor’s arms. His fingers weave into the fabric of Nandor’s cravat, and his tears soak into Nandor’s vest. “I didn’t mean to. I’m _sorry_.”

“I know you didn’t,” Nandor murmurs as he carries him to the downstairs bathroom. “It has been a long evening for everyone, right?” he says, as though he is talking a toddler down from a tantrum. “I know you did not mean to _actually_ stabby stab me in the heart, Guillermo. I shouldn’t have goaded you like that.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Nandor shakes his head and teases, “Guillermo, you are starting to sound like one of Nadja and Laszlo’s broken records. I _know_ you are sorry. It is okay.” 

“Okay,” Guillermo mutters, but the tears keep falling as Nandor sets his feet down gently on the floor of the downstairs bathroom, propping him so his weight is leaning back against the counter. Guillermo has been here many times, but never like this. His eyes rake over the majestic porcelain tub in the corner of the room where he has prepared many a bath for his master. He watches through a hazy covering of tears as Nandor sits himself on Guillermo’s wooden stool by the tub, leans forward, and turns on the hot water tap. The bath begins to fill with water, and as the water rushes out of the tap, the stream of tears in Guillermo’s eyes begins to subside. Nandor pours a substantial amount of expensive bubble bath, and the gathering pool of hot water foams.

“Get undressed for the bath,” Nandor urges, as he begins to shrug off his own cape, vest, and leather undershirt, letting them drift down to the tile floor carelessly. “Do not worry. I will not look at your squishy bits.”

Guillermo chuckles and shrugs off his coat. He stares at Nandor’s back as he takes off his sweater and undershirt. His hands tremble as he does it, his frayed nerves causing shaky fingers and equally shaky breaths. He pushes his shoes off without untying the laces and laughs joylessly as the sole on the undamaged shoe tears. 

_Some things don’t change._

His eyes once again return to the slope of Nandor’s shoulders, adorned only by his frilly white undershirt. 

_Other things do._

He finishes undressing and looks around for something to cover his naked body. He should feel more uncomfortable about being naked like this, he knows, but his mind keeps drifting to the look on Nandor’s face as wood was pointed at flesh, and he can’t seem to think of much else. The tears return, but their descent down his cheeks is slow. Muted. 

“Don’t look,” he says, and Nandor turns, showing that his eyes are closed serenely. Guillermo gapes. Nandor is relaxed, his guard down, as though Guillermo hasn’t just nearly killed him. Even after all of this, Nandor still trusts. 

Guillermo’s achey muscles sink into the steaming bathwater, and finally they are soothed. Once he’s determined that his body is well-hidden by the frothing bubbles, he says, “Okay. You can open your eyes.”

“Alright.” Nandor says, as he opens his eyes and begins to roll up his cuffs, revealing his hairy forearms once again. Guillermo is entranced, even through the ache in his chest and the blur in his vision. He reaches up and eases his fingers under the lens of his glasses to rub the moisture from his eyes.

He takes in the darkness of the circles under Nandor’s eyes, the fatigue plain on his face. His eyes follow Nandor’s movement as he bares his wrists. There are two twin sear marks, one on either wrist. “What this?” he wonders aloud, reaching for Nandor’s wrist but thinking better of it. He pulls his hand away abruptly, dipping it into the bathwater with a splash. 

“Oh, that,” Nandor says casually, as though there aren’t visible marks on his wrists, angry and red. “Silver ropes. Not too delicate on the old vampiric wrists.” He infuses a teasing sort of humor into each word. 

“But…” the rest of his sentence dies down in Guillermo’s throat. _But I never saw those before. Those weren’t there before._ He looks up at Nandor’s face again, soaking in the deep lines etched on his face, the slight frown at the corners of his mouth. Maybe it’s because he’s in nothing but his undershirt, or maybe it's just the downward curve of his shoulders as he reaches into the bathwater to check the temperature, but he looks smaller like this. Older, too.

 _Here I am tormented by 10 nights,_ Guillermo thinks to himself. _And he’s had 758 years._

“I suppose I am a little tired,” Nandor admits with a sigh. “It was a long night.”

“Is that why your wrists haven’t healed?” 

“No, I think it is because…” Nandor trails off, frowning. “I am a bit thirsty. Healing does not go as quick when you have not fed. I hope that does not frighten you. I won’t bite you, I promise,” Nandor adds, the tiniest hint of mirth in his tone. 

“When is the last time you ate?”

Nandor sighs and looks off into the air, as though the answer is wafting about in the steam emanating from the bath. “I think perhaps a few days ago? Or maybe a week.”

“A _week?_ ” Guillermo huffs. “Why on earth would you go that long without eating anything?”

“I guess I just didn’t feel like it.” Nandor pulls his hand out of the water and shakes it dry before handing Guillermo his own expensive loofah. “If you are comfortable, then I will give you your privacy.”

“No!” Guillermo nearly yells, before correcting himself. “No, no. You don’t have to go. That is, if you don’t want to.”

“Okay,” Nandor hums, adjusting himself on the wooden stool. It can’t be comfortable for someone with long legs like him to sit on, sprawling awkwardly out in front of him, but he doesn’t complain. “If I can ask… how did you find us? How did you know where we were?”

Nandor’s never asked him this before. He supposes now more than ever he owes him an explanation. “My mother’s fridge broke. I was coming back to get Topher’s minifridge.” 

“Oh.”

“And then I saw the invitation to the theatre. I held it up to the light, and saw the Vampiric Council’s symbol. I rushed over as quickly as I could.” 

“Hmm.” Nandor says, before going quiet. “Do you think we are still in danger?”

Guillermo frowns. He’s been so caught up in all of this that he hasn’t given that much thought, and he curses himself inwardly for being so selfish. He thinks on it, however, picturing the pandemonium that he unleashed in that theatre. He thinks about the way that the vampires ran in fear, fear from his little hands around stakes and holy water vials. A shiver races up his spine despite the warm bathwater. “I think I scared them off for now,” he assuages, and he doesn’t know if it’s for Nandor’s benefit or for his own. 

Nandor nods, but then goes quiet. _That’s the end of that conversation_ , Guillermo thinks. _The change was nice while it lasted._

Guillermo begins to wash himself dazedly, thinking about the scars on Nandor’s wrists and the exhaustion in his face. 

So he isn’t the only one who is tired. Nandor, too, has gone through a great ordeal tonight, and he, too, has experienced this night over and over again, but isn’t even aware of it. He looks more haggard than every other loop, however, and as Guillermo scrubs his chest with Nandor’s loofah he considers why that might be. 

_What’s different? Think, Memo. Think._

Oh.

Nandor hasn’t eaten tonight. He said so himself. But usually, between Guillermo passing out and waking up somewhere, Nandor has ducked away to the cell to take care of it. 

He hasn’t yet had the chance, instead interrupted by Guillermo pressing the sharp edge of a wooden stake against his chest. 

And here he is. Instead of filling his belly with sustenance, he’s sitting quietly as Guillermo soaks in the tub. 

He lets out an ugly, animal noise in his throat as he begins to sob once more. Nandor’s eyes widen and he leans forward, his fingers hanging in the air. “Guillermo?”

Guillermo can’t speak, his throat choked by the phantom grip of the emotions of this night - and the one before, and the one before - as they overtake him. There’s little anger left now, just regret and love pooling together in the salty trickle of his tears. 

Nandor, for his part, doesn’t seem to know what to do with the cascade of emotions, and opts instead to delicately point out, “Your hair is very dirty.” Without any further prompting, he cups the warm bathwater in his hands and scoops it gently over Guillermo’s head, careful not to get water on his glasses. He pours shampoo into his spindly hands, the rich aroma filling the air. Guillermo can’t stop looking at his wrists where the silver rope scars still sear. He has to force himself to look away, or he thinks he just might cry so hard he does some sort of physical damage. Nandor quietly begins to wash his hair, carefully and tenderly massaging his scalp, until the bathwater goes red. Guillermo is past caring about how disgusting that is, instead focusing on the sensation of Nandor’s hands in his hair. 

Over and over again, Nandor has rejected him. Nandor has pushed his love away. 

But over and over again, Nandor has carried him, has left cups of water and candies and sticky notes, washed clothes, repaired shoes, twined his fingers into Guillermo’s hair. 

Nandor has hurled accusations, has dared him, has pushed him. Nandor has gone quiet and soft, eyes full of things that Guillermo cannot understand. Nandor has had silver ropes tied around his wrists, stakes pressed to his chest. Nandor has _hurt_. Now, Nandor thirsts. 

Nandor still does not love him. 

“I love you,” Guillermo sobs. “I’m in love with you.” 

Nandor’s fingers still. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Guillermo gasps, leaning away from his touch. “You can go now. I’m just going to finish cleaning up, and then I’ll go.”

“Guillermo, I want you to know that you are--”

“ _Please_ ,” Guillermo begs. “Please just go.” 

Nandor looks at him for a long, stoic moment before he nods and stands up. He frowns down at Guillermo, before sighing and leaving, closing the door to the bathroom gently. 

Guillermo’s shoulders shake, and his stomach twists in hunger and nausea as he finishes washing his hair, cringing at the dirtiness of the now-tepid bathwater. He rushes to the toilet, dropping to his knees as he gags into the porcelain bowl, but nothing comes up. He drags himself off of the floor and gets dressed slowly, just putting his bloody clothes back on. He's too far gone to care about it.

When he emerges from the downstairs bathroom, Nandor is nowhere to be found. He walks out to where the countless bodies are strewn in the entryway, the thud of his broken rubber soles echoing out in the quiet house. Through tears he says a quiet prayer for the poor souls littering this floor. He cranes his neck, looking up at the ceiling, and is overcome once again with the majesty of this house. Another wave of nausea overtakes him. 

He leaves in silence, trudging his way back to the car. He sits with himself for a long moment, thinking about all the things he’s said and done, things he can’t take back. He knows now how Nandor will react to the brush of a kiss or the threat of a stake. For the second night in a row, he considers not leaving a note for himself, of approaching the next loop without the bitter knowledge that when backed into a corner, he just might snap. 

It might be nice, not to know. It might be nice not to have his darkest of suspicions confirmed. It might be nice not to feel _dangerous_. 

He looks down at his hands in his lap, and his mind drifts to Nandor’s hands, long and elegant. There is inhuman strength in those hands, but there is gentleness in tandem. He thinks of the angry red marks on Nandor’s wrists. He thinks of the sensation of being lifted into Nandor’s arms and cradled close, of breathing in the musky scent of Nandor's clothing, the rich aroma of Nandor's hair. He thinks of the relief of sinking into a warm tub. He imagines a version of this where he forgets what it’s like to have a quiet conversation with Nandor for once. 

He shakes his head and reaches for the glove compartment. 


	5. For long you live and high you fly. And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry. And all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. I don't know how the hell I wrote this whole story in a week. Ultimately, I think this ending is more sweet than bitter. I hope it works for you.

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

“Aren’t you coming, Gizmo?”

Guillermo opens his eyes, blinking past stagnant tears before he reads the word _remember_ and the pin-pricks occur all over his scalp. But this time, as the memories cascade over him, his fresh eyes looking at them once more, he merely blinks through the pain, barely reacting to the still-present sear. 

He lifts his head gently. “Woah, there, Guillermo. Those are quite the dramatic-looking tears, buddy. Real _Marriage Story_ level crying there, although I don't think that movie was worth any of the hype.”

“Me either,” Guillermo says, wiping his tears away furiously. Colin seems alarmed by his response, his eyes darting back and forth as he thinks the interaction over, and then he stops talking.

Guillermo turns to look at Nandor and smiles gently. “Let’s go, then.” He reaches into his pockets and pulls out his wallet and phone, dumping them in the center console unceremoniously. Somehow, he doesn’t think he’ll need them this time around. He unbuckles his seatbelt and exits the car. 

Colin walks ahead to the door, his sparkly shoes shining in the light of the streetlamp. He’s typing away on his Blackberry as he walks up to the house, eyes alight as he drains whatever unsuspecting soul is on the other side. 

Nandor hovers near the gate, waiting for Guillermo to catch up. “Long night, huh?” Guillermo asks good-naturedly, shoving his hands in his pockets. They walk together on the pathway and up the front steps.

“Yes,” Nandor agrees. “You can say that again.” 

Once they get in the house, Guillermo watches as Nandor reacts to the sight on the stairwell. The vampire cringes, baring his teeth. “This is pretty disgusting, I must admit,” he says, almost embarrassed. 

Guillermo nods. “Yeah, it is.” He bites his bottom lip hard, wincing in pain as his top teeth clench onto the flesh, but it works to stop himself from saying what he wants to say. Nandor squints at him as he does it. 

Guillermo releases his lip and takes a deep breath, before bending down to unlace his shoes. He peers at the ripped sole, inspecting it close-up for the first time. It isn’t nearly as bad as he thought, he realizes, only torn just past the heel. It’s nothing that a little glue can’t fix. He arranges his shoes neatly by the door. “Listen,” he starts, as he raises from his kneeled position and turns to face Nandor. _You can do this_ , he hypes himself up internally. “I am tired. And I am dirty. And you must be thirsty.”

“Yes. How did you know that?” 

“Lucky guess.” Guillermo smirks. “I’m going to wash my clothes, and then I’m going to shower. Go feed. We can talk after, okay?”

Nandor's lips part and he blinks rapidly at the onslaught of orders, his hands floating about in the air at his sides. His hands drift down to clasp together and he nods slowly. “Okay,” he says, before heading in the direction of the cell. Guillermo watches him leave silently, his fingernails digging little crescent moons into his palms as he resists the urge to play into the script. _No._ He is going to do this the right way this time.

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

After shedding himself of his blood-soaked clothes and wrapping his body up in his robe, he pads back downstairs to the kitchen, to where he keeps the antiquated wash-board that he uses to clean whatever garments don’t need to be dry cleaned, which mostly includes his own clothing, various undershirts, and the like. Once he gets to the kitchen, his eyes widen at the brand new washer and dryer stacked on top of each other, tucked neatly in the corner of the room. He remembers, then, that second go-around when Nandor had shrunk his clothes, and he laughs to himself at how long ago that seems. 

He loads his clothing into the washing machine in silence, standing only in his robe and socks, before he rummages through the cabinets and finds a lone candy bar. There is a pink sticky note on it. 

Guillermo’s jaw drops. 

_Candy bar for Guillermo. Do not eat if you are not Guillermo._

He holds the sticky note to his chest, closing his eyes as affection and yearning washes over him. His stomach growls, breaking him out of the dreamy swirl of thoughts. He shoves the sticky note in his pocket, and eats the candy bar at the sink, humming as the taste of off-brand chocolate hits his tongue. “Guillermo?” Nadja calls from behind him and he spins around, clutching his chest and coughing on the nougat. 

“Oh! You startled me. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Nadja frowns at him. “Have you been feeling any creepy crawly deja vu feelings?”

He barks out a laugh of surprise before he schools his features to a serious expression at the deathly fury in Nadja’s gaze. He finishes the candy bar and sets the wrapper down on the cracked, plastic countertop. “Yes. Have you?”

“Yes. And it is because the whole house is stuck in a stupid bloody time loop! And you have to fix it, you stupid donkey!”

Guillermo cocks his head. “Yeah… I know. You’re the one who told me. Like…” he squints as he thinks of the number. “8 nights ago?”

Nadja’s eyes widen and she curses in another language. “Bloody time loop, making me forget that I am in a time loop!” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t leave yourself something to remember,” he says as he fills a glass with water in the sink, drinking it all in one gulp. He lets out a little sigh of satiation and drops the cup into the basin of the sink. “That’s what you told me to do.”

Nadja raises her eyebrows and nods her head like she’s impressed with herself. “Yes, I think that was a very smart and nice thing for me to say.”

“You’re right. Thank you.”

She winces and leans backwards. She doesn’t know how to respond to the kind comment, it seems. Guillermo watches in amusement as her grimace shifts into what is probably supposed to be a smile. She nods her acknowledgement, and then barrels through to more accusations. “Well, why haven’t you fixed it yet?” 

“I’m getting to it,” he urges. “You can trust me.”

She takes a deep breath and sneers before she admits, “Yes, I know we can. We all can. We… Well, I have to tell you… We did... not so good without you. It is risky for me to even be talking to you right now, you know!” 

“I know.”

“So I will just say…” She brings her voice down to a mumble. “ _Thankyouforsavingus.”_

“Oh.” Guillermo wraps his arms around his waist, suddenly remembering that he’s still standing here in nothing but his robe. “You’re welcome.” 

Nadja points an accusatory finger at him. “Fix it!” she barks, before she turns and leaves. 

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

Once under the lukewarm spray of the upstairs shower, Guillermo allows himself to think.

He’s gone into this night, over and over again, with anger deep in his bones and an ache deep in his muscles. 11 years of hurt has propelled him to be cruel. As he washes his hair, he thinks maybe he’s earned the right to be a little cruel. Nandor has certainly hurt him. 

But Guillermo’s had the chance to let these things out, to declare his hate, and what did it get him? It certainly hasn’t gotten him out of this house. 

There have been times when he has dared himself to dream about a future with Nandor, a future where they frolic off into the night together hand in hand. Over and over again, that dream has been squashed on this night, and his heart _does_ clench in his chest knowing that Nandor will never be that for him. He has made it clear that he does not love Guillermo. 

It hurts. It hurts so _badly_ , a gnawing, gnashing, teeth-clenching pain, and yet, under the now frigid spray of the shower, Guillermo can’t seem to stop himself from smiling. 

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

He hobbles down the stairs, the towel draped around his neck collecting stray beads of moisture from his hair. Nandor is nowhere to be found, so he takes the opportunity to return to the kitchen and check his clothes. He gets there just in time to see the timer run down to :00, and the washer lets out a happy little tune to signal his clothes are done. _Cute_. 

He puts them in the dryer and sets it to the delicate cycle. He’ll probably end up shrinking his sweater in the process, as it really ought to be line dried. Oh well. 

He heads to the fancy room and plops himself onto the couch. He frowns at the sight of a victim in one of the chairs in the corner and another on the floor not too far from his feet. The hole in the wall and the dust on the mantel have distracted him, it seems, from the rest of the carnage in this room. Once again he wonders _do they really not know how to clean_? Nadja did admit that they didn’t do so well without him here. Could that be? Could his presence have been so missed that it was the cause of this destruction?

He leans back against the couch, closing his eyes. He’s startled out of his reverie as Nandor throws a deck of cards down into his lap. He’s changed out of his clothes from the night, his fur-adorned dressing down instead wrapped around his shoulders, and his hair is pulled into a low, messy bun. The dark circles under his eyes are less pronounced. His resting face seems a little less sullen. “I am bored!” he declares with a child-like puff of his chest. “Cards?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve played,” Guillermo muses. 

Nandor nods. “We can play that War game you taught me. That is an easy one to play, yes?”

“Yeah. Okay, let’s play.”

Nandor makes quick work of rearranging the room, dragging the coffee table a little closer so it presses against Guillermo’s bare kneecaps. He lifts one of the empty arm chairs and places it directly across from him. Guillermo takes the opportunity to shuffle the cards before splitting the deck, his attention half-focused on the cards in his hands and half-focused on the sight of Nandor meticulously setting up. The corner of his mouth twitches into the beginnings of a smile.

“Are you cold?” Nandor asks, gesturing to Guillermo’s body. 

Guillermo shakes his head. “No. This robe is pretty warm.” 

Nandor nods as he sits down in the arm chair. The motion pulls his dressing gown up, and Guillermo can see his bare knees on display. It’s a strange getup: a vintage, expensive dressing gown paired with Adidas shorts and dress socks. Guillermo smiles at the visual. “What is all that smiling about, Guillermo?” Nandor teases, reaching for one of the halves of the deck. “Are you laughing at my clothing?”

“No,” Guillermo says, but then his laughter betrays him. “No,” he says again, more seriously. Nandor shakes his head as if to say _I don’t believe you_ and then throws a card down. 7. Guillermo has 6. Nandor’s win. “Okay,” he admits, continuing to play. “Your outfit is a _little_ silly.”

“Yes, well, we have not had so many clean clothes without you here,” he grits, and Guillermo feels a small twinge of anger before he shoves it down. “Until Colin Robinson bought us a new washy machine and dryer so we can clean our less delicate clothes.” He tosses his card down onto the table. “Guillermo,” he begins, frowning. “I did not realize doing the laundry was so dangerous. And you have been doing it all this time?”

 _You’re such an idiot sometimes_. 

Guillermo chuckles. “Colin’s going to kill me for this but… laundry is _not_ dangerous. He lied to you.”

Nandor bares his teeth in a grimace. “Fucking Colin Robinson, making me think you were putting your life on the line to clean my clothes!” 

“You really thought I would put my life in danger to wash your laundry?”

“You…” Nandor begins, his eyebrows knit tightly together over the bridge of his nose, as Guillermo’s 9 beats his 2. “Shit,” he grits, shaking his head at the cards. “You put your life in danger tonight.” 

“That’s different. That’s not _laundry_. That was about stopping your heads from being chopped off with a big head-chopping machine.” He pauses. Nandor’s roundabout way of describing things has rubbed off on him, it seems.

“I am guessing this is not the first time your life has been in danger, and I did not even know it.” 

“Well…” Guillermo sighs. “Yeah. There were a whole bunch of assassins sent to kill you.”

Nandor laments, “Why did you not tell me? I feel like you do not tell me anything anymore.”

 _I never did_ bubbles up, but then dies on Guillermo’s tongue. “I didn’t think I could. Without, y’know, revealing that I was secretly really good at killing vampires. Which… I am. Really good at.”

“How long have you known this?”

Guillermo grits his teeth, thinking about all the ways this conversation might unfold messily. “When I got your DNA tested.”

“That long,” Nandor breathes, but he doesn’t sound very surprised about it. “I suppose I never really asked you what your results were.” 

“You’re right.” Guillermo slaps down an 8, and Nandor matches him with his own 8. 

_W-A-R spells WAR._

“I know I have been very cruel to you. I know I have been aloof. You must hate my guts.”

“I--” Guillermo trails off, thumbing the edge of his next card. _Does he?_ “You have been cruel to me, yes. You’ve hurt me a lot. But… I don’t hate you.” 

Nandor’s chest heaves with a useless breath. “ _Thank you_.” 

“It’s got to be a bit weird for you, though,” Guillermo dares to begin, slapping down an ace. Nandor frowns and places down a king, and Guillermo adds both cards to his own ever-growing pile. “Having a familiar who turns out to be a vampire killer.” 

Nandor’s eyebrows raise a little as he places down his next card. “Yes, weird is one word to describe it. That is one way to describe the fact that I have been living with someone who could have killed me this whole time.”

“You know, you could just as easily kill me.”

Nandor’s lower lip juts out slightly. “What is that word, Guillermo, that says, ‘okay, you are right,’ but I don’t want to say you are right, so instead I will say this one word that means ‘yes, that’s fair’?”

“Touché?” 

“Yes. That’s it,” Nandor draws out the sibilant. He tosses down a 10, and Guillermo matches it. 

_W-A-R spells WAR._

“Touché, my friend.”

 _Friend._ That word stings, just a bit, but then Guillermo breathes deep again, counts to 10, and realizes it’s the first time he’s heard it in a way that isn’t a rejection. Warmth settles into his chest. 

Guillermo’s pile grows larger until Nandor only has a tiny stack of cards in his hands. “You are good at this game, Guillermo,” he pouts. 

“It’s just luck.”

“Hmm. Maybe your luck is good tonight, then.”

“Maybe, Nandor,” he replies. “Maybe it is.”

Nandor winces. “It is very strange, hearing you call me by my name like that,” he grits, before cocking his head. “That is the name of a movie, right? Calling Me By My Name?”

“ _Call Me By Your Name._ ”

“Oh. Yes. Very sad,” he hums. “But not as sad as the fact that I only have five cards left!” he adds petulantly, and Guillermo smiles. 

“You could still win.” 

“Unlikely.” He pauses, looking up from his pile to stare at Guillermo’s face. Guillermo can’t read the expression there, but he thinks he sees hesitation in the way Nandor’s lower lip trembles. “Why did you leave? I know you left already once before but… you did not even say goodbye this time. Did you leave because of me?”

_W-A-R spells WAR._

Guillermo sets his cards down on the table and takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes, killing time before he has to give a response. “Partially,” he admits.

“But I gave you the days off and the ice chips.”

“That’s true,” Guillermo sighs. “But I just… I couldn’t be in a place where I’m replaceable anymore. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Nandor laughs and his eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. “ _Replaceable_ ,” he repeats in disbelief.

“Yeah. There was Benjy. He replaced me.” _You cared about him_ , Guillermo thinks, once again digging his nails into his palm before flipping his tie-breaking card. His win. _You cared about him enough to keep pictures of him_. 

Nandor scoffs. “And where is Benjy now, hmm? In Mary-land or something, smelling like immortal mashed potatoes?” Guillermo looks down at his lap, his thumb resting on the back of his next card. That's true, isn't it? He's been so wrapped up in pictures at the bottom of a box and for what? 

Nandor shakes his head and his voice is a sarcastic lilt. “Yes, you are _very_ replaceable, Guillermo, which is why there are four dead bodies in this room, five in the other, and the wall near my bedroom is still wet,” he blurts, before he catches himself. His eyes go wide, and he begins to play again, noticeably shaken by his own admission. 

“The… wall? The wall is wet? Why is the wall wet?”

“The wall is not the important thing here, Guillermo!” he grits. He says the next part through clenched teeth, “The entire house was in disarray in your absence.”

“Oh.”

“Laszlo kicked a hole into the wall over there. Did you see that?” he whines. “That kind of shit never happened with you around.” 

“Okay, so I’m a good familiar. But there are plenty of good familiars out there. And… maybe I don’t want to be a familiar anymore,” he admits out loud for the first time in his life. He cringes, anticipating Nandor’s reaction. 

“Well, I cannot force you to be my familiar, Guillermo,” he says thoughtfully. “Will you be a vampire killer then, full time? I hope you are not thinking of stabby stabbing _me_ anytime soon, even if you are not my familiar anymore.” 

“I’m not.” Guillermo waits to continue playing. Nandor looks up, and their eyes meet. “I’m not. I need you to know I wouldn’t do that," he insists, the urgency in his voice surprising even himself. He means it, he realizes. He really fucking means it. 

Nandor looks at him strangely. “Yes. I know. I was only joking, Guillermo.”

“Right.” 

“What will you do now, hmm?” Nandor asks, his tone bordering on accusatory. Guillermo knows him well enough to tell that there’s little actual anger underneath the surface. “If you are not going to be a familiar, and you are not going to stabby stab me, then what will you do?”

“I… I don’t know,” he muses, really considering it for the first time. “I guess go back to my mom’s apartment? I can’t imagine working a regular job.” 

“You could always go back to the Panera Bread. You could reference me.” 

Guillermo's eyes widen and he gasps in disbelief. “That would be okay with you? Not having me around?”

Nandor scoffs. He is down to one last card. Guillermo blinks in surprise. That might have been the fastest game of War of all time. “Well, it will not be as though you are leaving forever, right? You’ll come back and see us once in a while? So we do not catch the house on fire, and we are not killed in our sleep by vampire assassins?” 

“You… I can’t work for you again.”

“I did not ask you to.” Nandor frowns down at the card in his hand before he throws it face-down on Guillermo’s pile and snatches the cards up. He begins to shuffle the cards furiously. “You won,” he grumbles, but there is an upturn at the corner of his mouth as he does it. 

Guillermo scoffs. “What was your card?”

Nandor hesitates for a moment before saying, “A 3.” 

He’s a bad liar. Guillermo can tell; he can see it all over his face. For the past 11 years, Nandor’s face has been his whole life. His mornings and his evenings have been devoted to this handsome, stupid, rash being sitting across from him. His every waking thought has been consumed with him, with the thought of their ideal future together, side by side for all eternity. 

There will be no version of this where they sit close by the fire and kiss. There will be no moon-eyed glances or brushing of hands or lips. Nandor can’t be that. He’s said so himself, what feels like hundreds of times.

Nandor cannot be his whole life. But, Guillermo thinks, ushering the cards into the tiny cardboard box, he can be part of it. The sing-song timer on the dryer rings faintly through the house. “My clothes are dry.”

“I guess you will be going, then.” 

“I guess so. Wait here.” 

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

When he drifts back to the fancy room, now fully clothed in his sweater that is miraculously not shrunken, he stands in the entryway for a second, taking a private moment to look at Nandor. He’s sitting where Guillermo had just been, arms folded in his lap as he looks down at the coffee table. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and he’s put his boots on, but Guillermo can still see his kneecaps poking out of the space between his boot and his short. He breathes him in. _So handsome_. His heart is once again full of affection, his whole body vibrating with the ferocity of it. Nandor has spoken candidly tonight. He has bared so much more than his forearms and knees. 

Nandor looks up, catching him staring. He looks away, his cheeks red hot, but Nandor mercifully says nothing of it. “You are going now then?” He stands and positions himself in front of Guillermo in the doorway.

“Yeah,” Guillermo says, and he rubs at his face. 

_I don’t want to go. Can we have this night over again?_

"Oh!" Nandor suddenly exclaims, breaking his thoughts. "Do not forget the cold little white box. Your mother needs it, yes?” 

Tears fill Guillermo's eyes, but for once, he’s smiling through them. He rushes forward to fling his arms tightly around Nandor's shoulders with wild abandon, breathing his musky scent in deep. 

There may not be kisses or candy hearts or roses in their future. There may not be loving looks or pet names. He might never even become a vampire. He’s spent too much time thinking about all the things they won’t have. 

There can be glitter portraits and flights over the Manhattan skyline. There can be easy conversations over cards, pink sticky notes, and gluing broken shoes back together. There can be spats over the silliest of things, but moments of quiet understanding in kind. There can be all sorts of new moments as they move forward in friendship. There can be moments like this one, when Nandor remembers something as seemingly insignificant as a fridge. 

Nandor stays stock still against his embrace for a moment, before he laughs and holds Guillermo close by the waist. His bearded chin settles on Guillermo’s shoulder. "It is nothing to get too emotional about, Guillermo,” he scolds playfully. “I had a good time tonight. With you."

"Me too." Love confessions dance on the tip of Guillermo’s tongue, but then he thinks of how Nandor's phrased it, and decides for once to put it in his words. "I am always going to care about you, no matter what," he murmurs into Nandor's ear. "You know that, right?"

Nandor is silent for a moment. "Yes, I think so, but it is nice to hear. I… care about you, too."

"I know you do. You’ve been showing me all along, haven’t you?" Guillermo squeezes him tightly before pulling back. "Okay," he laughs, rubbing the tears away. "I should get going."

"Alright," Nandor says, before ducking into the closet. He emerges with the fridge in his arms like it weighs nothing, the lamp from Guillermo’s bedside still resting on top.

Guillermo chuckles and grabs the lamp, setting it down on the floor. “I don’t think my mom needs a new lamp.” 

“Okay, if you are sure.” 

Guillermo shuffles into his shoes, smiling at the way the sole flaps against the base. _That’s sort of a funny sound,_ he thinks. _Huh._

Guillermo holds the front door open for Nandor, and they walk out to the car in amicable silence. 

Nandor easily shuffles the fridge into the backseat and closes the rear door lightly. 

He turns around, leaning against the car. "I'll see you tomorrow then? I know I said once in a while, but once in a while can be tomorrow, right?" Nandor asks shyly.

" _Yes_. Tomorrow." 

Nandor smiles at him, so widely the edges of his eyes crease. Guillermo beams back at him.

He gets in the car as Nandor walks back to the house. The vampire gives him the tiniest little wave from the front entrance. He waves back at him, and watches Nandor as he goes back into the house, new tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. 

His feelings are not gone; they still rattle fiercely in his chest. There are still years and years of pent-up emotions and regrets, years of hurt and misunderstanding. There are still dead bodies in the entryway, looking up at the high ceiling with lifeless eyes. 

But, through all of that, there _is_ tomorrow. 

He takes a deep breath, puts the key in the ignition, and the car roars to life.

The End. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on this journey!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


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